Holidays in Mordor
by Anendros
Summary: You don't have to know LOTR lore to understand this story, all important characters are Sauron, the Nazgûl and the Mouth and it plays in Mordor. It's a very absurd story, the gist being that Mordor is near bankruptcy and so Sauron is forced to commit to rather unconventional methods, for a Dark Lord at least, to ensure the continued survival of Mordor. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

**Holidays in Mordor**

"Khamûl! Khamûl, would you come here please? And don't forget to bring the book!", Sauron commanded to the second in command Nazgûl.

"I will be there shortly, my Lord!", Khamûl answered and started to run to the accounting department. One does not fare well with a scorned Sauron on the heels, so the book was of greatest importance.

"GRAMOK! GRAMOK! Bring the book here right now!", Khamûl barked into the office.

"What? What book?", Gramok asked, doing a bad impression of a hardworking, busy bee that did not just wake up from a very long nap.

"The accounting folder, you bloody idiot!"

"Which one?", Gramok asked, barely noticing that he was awake by now.

"EVERY SINGLE ONE!", Khamûl screamed. Gramok moved as quick as he could into the storage room and dug through its mountains of folders for the accounting books, really, they should hire one to do the logistics here, poor was far too poor a word to describe the state of things. Finally, after finding the desired folders, he sprinted back to the door and the waiting Khamûl, only to stumble midway and come to a sliding halt right in front of the Nazgûl's boots.

"Finally!", Khamûl exclaimed, picked up the folders and decapitated the useless, insolent orc. The standard for employees had really sunk since the second age, truly dreadful times they were living in.

"My Lord?", the ringwraith asked.

"Ah there you are, what took you so long? Don't bother telling me, you're here now and that's all that matters. Tell me, faithful servant, how do our finances look?", the giant eye telepathically told him.

"My Lord, I will be as truthful as possible and try not to sugarcoat the situation, if it is alright with you.", Khamûl said, dreading who would get the blame for what would undoubtedly follow. Stupid Witch King and stupid Gramok, it was entirely their fault if he had anything to say about it.

"Yes, go on, tell me nothing but the truth, do not hide if it is dire.", the eye commanded. Khamûl closed his eyes and sighed, the book in his hands seemingly opening by itself and he elucidated Sauron about the crisis they were facing. More than 3 hours later, he was finished with informing the Dark Lord about why Mordor was not in a place to rule Middle earth, or Arda for that matter.

"And the earnings last quarter were truly that low? Are you really sure about that?", Sauron asked with a very concerned tone.

"Yes, my Lord. I have gone over the numbers seven times now, and I can't find anything which could be used to improve the report. I fear that all the army building and war mongering over the past few millennia have led us into this corner we can't back out of, my Lord.", the ringwraith answered.

"Oh my, we are screwed! Screwed, I tell you! How should we fund the army now and the navy and and and… do your fellbeasts even have anything to eat?", the Dark Lord asked.

"My Lord, we feed the unruly slaves to the beasts. It is obvious that they would prefer another fodder, but in these dire times we can't afford it.", Khamûl answered.

"Yes, yes, that is good. Oh, I have to think about what we are going to do. You may go now, but please do me a favor and send in the Witch King. Maybe that Idiot bears some good news, for those are needed now.", Sauron said and send the ringwraith on his way.

Waiting for the leader of the Nazgûl, he desperately tried to find a solution to this problem, a quick, easy and cheap solution. While Sauron was mulling over whether it made any sense to ask the Balrog for advice, the Witch King arrived with news and made his way towards the Great Eye.

"My Lord."; The Witch King made his presence known.

"Ah finally, there you are. Tell me, what news do you bring, are they of good nature?", Sauron asked.

"My Lord, I fear that the news I have will not delight you. Our spies in Mirkwood have been caught and executed by the filthy elven king.", the Nazgûl replied.

"WHAT! Why did they get caught? We needed the information they provided!", Sauron lamented.

"They most likely were caught because they could not hide their orcish nature among the elves."

"Hmm, yes that does seem likely. They must have been terribly envious of their, admittedly, perfect skin and brilliantly white teeth.", Sauron said. "And what about the ring? Did you find it?"

"My Lord?"

"The ring! The one ring to rule them all, yadda yadda yadda, you know what I mean, the thing I used to enslave you.", the Lord of Mordor said, his eye possibly twitching.

"…No, my Lord, I did not actively try to gain hold of it. I did not know that I should seek it.", the leader of the ringwraiths answered.

"Is that not self-evident? Does this mean that you never looked for it when you got out? Bloody certain you did not, a damned idiot I have for leader of the most feared creatures in Middle Earth. Well, if you don't do it in the future, I will dress you up in a maid costume that you have to wear for the next two ages, do you understand?", Sauron furiously said.

The dark void, that was in place of the face, seemed to pale. "Yes, my Lord."

"Alright then, my somewhat faithful servant, go on your way, take the day off and do something you like. I have to find a solution to an existential crisis now and don't need your idiocy infesting my thoughts. Oh, and when you go please do tell my secretary that nobody ought to disturb me today.", Sauron asked of his servant. The Witch King obliged, wished his master good luck with his task and made his way towards the cave of Shelob, for some good old teatime talk, with those delightful biscuits she has.

'What can we do, what can we do… What is easy and makes a mountain of money?', Sauron thought. 'I wish that I could go back to Valinor, they could help me. Stupid Valar and stupid Melkor!'

'Wait!', the giant eye thought, it would have blinked if it could, 'I got it! We have to get the peoples of Middle Earth here, to Mordor, we bring them here and then enslave them! I don't have to conquer everything, I just have to dominate their thoughts. I have to make them want to come to Mordor, they should willingly spend their money on seeing what we have here. That's it!', the Dark Lord started to see the solution form before his eye.

"KHAMÛL! Come here, you undying moron!", Sauron commanded.

Khamûl did not come.

Sauron exasperatedly sighed mentally, counted to ten and called again. "Khamûl!"

"My Lord, your secretary does not allow me in. She says that no one ought to disturb you today, apparently even the ones you called for.", the very muffled voice of Khamûl came through the door.

'Eru Ilùvatar be damned, am I surrounded solely by utter incompetence?', Sauron thought. Once again counting to ten he said in his sweetest tone.

"Heather, Khamûl is allowed to come in, please let him pass. I will make sure that he does not antagonize me!", Sauron called to his secretary. Khamûl finally came in and slammed the door in Heather's face, who in turn rammed her ballpoint pen through the door, nearly splitting it in half.

"Hurry up next time, this is unacceptable.", the eye told the Nazgûl.

"Yes, I will try, My Lord."

"But I did not call you here so that I can once again marvel at your incompetence, but to give you orders on how we are going to save Me, Mordor and the rest of you pitiful creatures.", Sauron said, not really caring what his servant muttered.

"Now, you should prepare to be shocked, as what I am going to say next won't sound either helpful nor the right choice of action. To have the much-needed hope come to our dreadful situation, we must invite our enemies into our land.", the Dark Lord of Mordor declared.

"…What?", Khamûl replied.

"You heard me right, I said that we have to bring our enemies into our land. And that not by force, but with an invitation of peaceful travels to our land.", Sauron said happily. "They should experience Mordor how it really is. Not the terrible tales Middle Earth likes to gossip, but how beautiful it can be. Their peoples should want to come here, and then they are going to have such a great time that they would want to do it again, and again, and again. Effectively, this will be the holiday paradise for the entire populace of Middle Earth."

Khamûl did not show any emotion, he did not move at all. Then he shook his head, as if trying to see if he was still asleep, and looked up at the eye once more.

"Forgive me, My Lord, I must have been hallucinating or foul, rotten magic has bewitched my mind. I just had the dream that you were telling me to make Mordor into a, or rather the, Holiday destination of Middle Earth. I don't know how I could even come up with something so utterly insane. Please do forgive me, My Lord.", Khamûl said, the tone in his voice not sure if that was something he wanted to say.

"Oh why should I, for you have heard right. I do intend to recreate Mordor, to make it into the idyllic, beautiful haven of escape from the modern-day stress that plagues the world. I mean, even you have to admit that the times, compared to the last age, have decisively changed for the worse, don't you? For what I know, the wrinkles on elven faces have risen by more than 400%, a truly horrifying statistic!", Sauron explained. In the meantime, Khamûl fainted, toppled and miraculously landed directly on top of the impractically placed guillotine. Sauron took a long moment to ponder as to why fate gifted him with such an opportunity in the midst of this dilemma, taking a bit too long and giving Khamûl enough time to awake again and escape his impending doom.

While Sauron was busy cursing himself for falling prey to fates temptation, Khamûl pinched himself and came to the dreaded realization that this was indeed reality, and not the fever dream on his death bed as he had hoped for.

"My Lord, as I understand it, you called me here because you want me to organize the orcs, slaves and other creatures of Mordor. They should be brought into a presentable state as to not frighten our soon to be "guests" and clean up Mordor?", Khamûl asked.

"How very right you are, you blistering imbecile!", Sauron sarcastically answered. "No, you should do it all by yourself just for asking. But really, I want you to put together a think-tank to work out a short term and long-term plan on how I should lead and form Mordor. You should start with my Mouth, I always hate to call him "The Mouth of Sauron", talking about myself in third person is just stupid. Him and maybe the witch king, along the rest of the Nazgûl, and possibly my secretary, to meet the female quota. Off you go now, time is money and we are in need of both!"

Khamûl left, threatened Heather with his sword when she came too close and went to the Mouths' residence. He would deal with her later, as the trouble of organized insanity is not enjoyable, especially when it is double. On the way there, he sometimes stopped by a wall or tall rock to bang his head against it. Finally, he arrived at the House of the Mouth.

"I seek the Mouth of Sauron. Bring him here.", Khamûl said to the orc standing guard.

"Yes, Master.", the orc responded and hurried off inside the house.

Khamûl waited, stomped on a mole that dared to dig up right between his heels and commiserated about how much he missed picking his nose back from when he was King of the Easterlings. A hushed conversation between two voices could be heard from behind the wall, "What? Why is he here?", "I don't know, Master ... Only that he seeks you." and "If that is about the… the slaves were lazy, I tell you… can do it himself, should he need it so desperately." Was among the things he could make out. Finally, after waiting a bit too long to the Nazgûl's liking, the Mouth of Sauron appeared, smelling like vanilla.

"Ah, my good Khamûl, what brings you here on this fine day?", the Mouth asked.

"I am here on our Lords orders, you are going to be part of a… what is that infernal stench you carry?", Khamûl said.

"What? I don't know what you are talking about, I smell like I always do!", the Mouth said, a bit too quickly.

"No, you definitely smell different. What is that smell? Are you sick? That's it, is it not, you are sick! And probably going to infect me!", Khamûl screamed and ran for the nearest cover.

"No, I am not sick! I don't know what you are talking about!", the Mouth shouted and ran after him.

"Stay back you infested savage! I tell you, I am not afraid to use this!", Khamûl threatened and pointed his sword.

"Oh alright, I was… well, I was taking a bath while you came and I still smell a bit like it.", the Mouth admitted.

"You? Taking a bath? Don't sell me for a fool, you are as dirty and filthy as ever!", Khamûl said, swinging the sword after a dodging Mouth.

"Okay! OKAY! Stop it, I will tell you! I was baking some cookies and vanilla is part of the recipe!", the Mouth admitted truthfully this time.

"You what? Which cookies? And who were you planning to give them to? And why did I not know about this?", Khamûl asked, baffled by the revelation that the Mouth can bake and would openly admit to it.

"Usually I make them for myself… if you want me to share them with you, that won't happen. Getting the ingredients was hard enough, and I only have enough for me anyways. So you won't get any and that is final.", the Mouth told Khamûl. "And you did not know about it, because exactly what has happened now would have happened then, you greedy goblin!", the Mouth told him.

"I can't argue with you and your idiocy now, we have to get going, I have to get the rest of the team assembled-", Khamûl said.

"But my cookies are in the oven!", the Mouth interrupted.

"I don't care, we must get going!"

"But, but… you can have some if you wait for me."

After a few of the Mouths' delicious cookies and a glass of milk, Khamûl and the Mouth made their way to the fortress of the Nazgûls. Khamûl even managed to get a bit of the recipe out of the Mouth, although he was not sure that it was the right one. Sprinkled troll turds did not seem like a valid, believable ingredient.

The Clubhouse of the Nazgûls finally came into sight and the "NO GIRLS ALLOWED!" and "DANGER! TOO COOL FOR YOU!" signs greeted them.

"And here I was, thinking that you and your fellow _most feared creatures of Middle Earth _would actually be scary. You are just pathetic, the very definition of pathetic.", the Mouth said. Khamûl didn't enter an argument with him, because he silently and shamefully agreed. They set foot in the house and the sight of Poker playing Nazgûls greeted them. The slaves holding up the Poker table were also uncharacteristically invested in the game, even neglecting to complain or moan about their unfortunate situation.

"Stop cheating!", Ren screamed at Dumân.

"Stop accusing me of cheating, you stinking liar!", Dumân shouted back at him and tried to stab his dagger into one of his hands.

"Will both of you shut up? We want to play until I win and YOU have no coin left!", Tharelion interjected.

"EVERYONE GET UP AND FOLLOW ME!"; Khamûl shouted. The Nine, or rather Seven, got startled and let out high pitched shrieks, three of them fell off their seats.

"Now come after me, we got a mission from the Dark Lord himself. And he put me in charge, so you better stay quiet, for I will not show mercy to any of you.", Khamûl said. The Mouth meanwhile took a look at the untidied rooms of the Nazgûl.

"What is the mission about?", Tharelion asked.

"I will not answer any question that is being asked from someone not moving a muscle to get into a mobile state. And an answer to a question posed by an idiot will be even more unlikely."

"Move a muscle, very funny…", Zerkal muttered.

The Nazgûl abandoned their game and darted for their rooms, so that they could put on the cloaks and get ready to be seen by the public. Khamûl and the Mouth waited in the meantime, testing the sharpness of their blades on the slaves holding up the table. Finally, they were able to go and headed towards the Eyes' tower, voicing their discomfort with the holding hands-and-forming-a-crocodile-row policy of Khamûl. Yet they could not argue when he told them that they could get lost and then what, as he would not come look for them.

Coming to the Witch Kings' palace, they were once more greeted by an orc standing guard.

"Bring the Witch King out here. The Dark Lord needs him.", Khamûl ordered.

"I am very sorry, Master, but the Witch King is currently not at home. He has not returned from the Tower since he left earlier.", the Orc answered.

"And you would not be aware as to where he has gone, would you?", Khamûl asked, annoyed that nothing ever seemed to work the way it should.

"No, Master, the Witch King has not notified me of his intentions and when he would be returning."

"And if I did this?", Khamûl whipped around and held a dagger to the Orc's throat, "Would this help your memory?"

The Orc swallowed nervously, which gave his throat a little cut. "Great Master, I truly do not know where the King is, I am sorry, I would tell you if I could!"

Khamûl sighed and put the dagger away. Killing one of the guards would only get him in trouble with the boss, he always boasted about the intelligence of his personal orc-guards, and he was right with it. They were undeniably exceptionally intelligent, no other orcs in Mordor had their vocabulary, nor their diplomatic temper in face of danger.

"Alright then everyone, we go on without the Boss. He will join us later, hopefully.", Khamûl said and they marched on, the Mouth, Tharelion and Dumân with a joyful skip in their step. The leading Nazgûl sighed and cursed himself for accepting the damn jewelry and being enslaved by Sauron. After an excruciatingly tedious journey they returned to the Eye. Now a Herculean task waited for Khamûl, namely taming the vicious beast, the destroyer of Worlds, the Grim Reapers stepmother-Heather. Thankfully the Mouth had given him a bit of advice on how to reconcile with an adversary, his way of words proved why he was the Mouth of Sauron and the most devastating political weapon in Sauron's arsenal. Khamûl said his preemptive goodbyes to the rest of them, should the appeasement fail, and set off for the lair of the vile monstrosity aiding his Lord.

"May I come in?", the ringwraith asked from the doorframe after knocking.

"Please state your credentials and the reason for your visit.", Heather replied, not looking up from her crossword puzzle.

"I am Khamûl, former King of the Easterlings and now the vice-leader of the Nazgûl. The Lord Sauron has given me employment for multiple millennia and the reason for my visit is a mission from our Lord that involves your participation.", Khamûl replied to her request. Heather froze mid-word, dropped her pen and looked up.

"You."

"Me. I don't want a fight and hope that the little disputes we have from time to time can be laid aside, as this is of far greater importance than a petty fight between servants.", Khamûl pleaded as he visibly grew smaller under her gaze.

"I have not forgotten and most certainly not forgiven your earlier behavior. I will not work with you as long as you don't apologize, sincerely apologize and promise to not do it again.", Heather said with a Death stare.

"Woman, I will not apologize to a mere, filthy mortal that dares-"

Khamûl was cut short by a mug heading in his direction. Glancing from behind cover, he saw Heather moving towards him, all the forces of nature unable to control her.

"On second thought, I have to admit that my behavior earlier was terribly wrong and woefully inadequate. I am sorry for being such a miserable being that you had to put up with and I promise that I will try my best to be better in the future.", Khamûl whimpered.

"Say it again and look me in the eyes."

Khamûl, back in the old days called Khamûl the Brave, had to prove his title now. Gathering all the courage left in him, he stood up, turned to Heather and looked her in the eyes.

"I am sorry for how I treated you earlier, truly sorry. I have not taken your feelings into account, and I do intend to take them serious in the future, and that to a satisfactory degree for you. I was wrong, you had orders from our lord that you followed as best as you could and I was solely focused on myself and my needs, which shall not be the case in any future interaction between the two of us. I hope you find it deep down in your heart that you can show me forgiveness. You are an invaluable part of our organization and a wonderful human being that sparks joy in everyone that meets you, and I know how sarcastic this sounds, but it is the truth.", Khamûl pleaded to Heather. The secretary gave him a proving look, although the void in his hood gave her a hard time seeing eye to eye.

"Okay, your heartwarming speech made me reconsider. I forgive you, and hope that we can be on friendly terms from now on.", Heather said after a while. The void gave an unseen, satisfied grin.

"Oh, what a joy happy endings are! Now let's go, we have to meet the rest of the team, they are already eagerly awaiting you!", Khamûl said and the two joined the rest of Mordor's most malicious residents.

"… and therefore, it is of vital importance that you sharpen your blades at regular intervals. Believe me, blood on a blade corrodes and causes calamities, which in turn damages body and soul.", the Mouth finished to a crowd of Nazgûls hanging at every word from his lips.

"Enjoying yourselves, are you? All very well, but we have work to do. Everyone take a seat and get your creativity working, chop chop!", Khamûl ordered after they forced their attention away from the Mouth.

"So, our Lord has ordered me to fill up the war chest, since we are running very low on money. And he has thought of a way on how we are going to do this. I have to warn you all, though, what you will hear now could be considered mad and insane, like us Kings went mad when we got his rings. Kings… that reminds me, the Boss is not here. I have to get him!", Khamûl panicked at the non-presence of the Witch King. "Think about how you would enjoy yourselves in Mordor while I get him, and I want an answer from each and every one when I get back!"

"Wait! Khamûl!", Heather hurriedly called after him. "I know where he is, at least I suspect that I know!"

"Where? Please tell me!", Khamûl shouted back at her.

"He went to visit an old friend for tea time, someone called Sherlock I believe!", Heather told him carefully.

"Who? Sherlock? Oh, I think I know who you mean! Did he say Shelob?"

"Yes, yes, exactly that one. Hope you know where the guy lives!", Heather informed him.

"Thank you for telling me, and yes, I know where she lives."

Khamûl left the conference room in a hurry, slipped on his cloak and fell down the stairs. Finally out the door, he whistled for his fellbeast and they took off towards the mountains. Arriving at his destination, he jumped off a still slave-munching fellbeast and ran for the cave.

"…and it is just dreadful how he behaves lately, tell you that! Truly exhausting, I feel worse than an actual labourslave!", the Witch King told the attentively listening giant spider hanging from the ceiling.

"Chief! Chief! The Dark Lord asks for you!", Khamûl panted.

"SHH! Be quiet, maybe he will forget that I'm here!", the hushed voice of the most dreaded Nazgûl echoed through Shelob's cave. Khamûl felt like he would burst, why could they not cooperate, why? And now he had to search for their leader, the petulant child that disappeared in the ball pit that was Shelob's home. Running through the stinking and sticky caves quickly took a toll on him, and he considered simply returning without their leader.

"Cruuuuuunchhhh!", echoed through the cave.

'Got you!', Khamûl thought. He knew what that was, it was one of Shelobs biscuits. No mind could withstand such temptation for long, and the Witch King was no exception.

"Master, I know where you are. It makes no sense to hide any longer, please come out. We need to get going, it is really important!", he called into the darkness.

"… but I don't want to!", a voice called back.

"Please?", Khamûl asked. Not this again.

"Leave me alone! Tell Sauron that I'm not at home!"

"Master, Sauron knows that you're not at home, that is why I had to go and get you!", Khamûl shouted while moving closer to the source of the voice.

"…well, then tell him that he granted me a week's worth vacation and there's no take backsies on that! As senile as he is, he will probably believe it!"

"Found you, Master!", Khamûl said and held the torch in front of the Nazgûls void. The Witch King scowled and Shelob screeched at the light and its holder. A lot of negotiating later, the Witch King and Khamûl were on route to the Giant Eye's tower.

"…and then he says 'We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed' -I'm deeply offended and growl at him- 'Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return.', to which I say 'Ah, old Greybeard' -Dramatic pause and slightly creepy smile- 'I have a token I was bidden to show thee' and whip out my-"

"Okay, returned we have and not to show Mercy we are in the mood. So it would behoove you all if you were to shut up, especially you Mouth, or otherwise I will feed you to Tinkerbell.", the Witch King interrupted the Mouths' speech, much to the dismay of the Nazgûl and Heather. The Mouth swallowed heavily at the thought of ending up as the Fellbeasts' dinner.

"Yes, we are back and want to be very roused busy bees now, because if the Boss doesn't get any results soon, we are going to be _Mordor's Most Mistreated_.", Khamûl said with a warning tone.

"Get started on what? You haven't told us what we should do.", The Mouth said.

"Didn't I? I'm pretty sure that I said something to you, that I gave you an exercise… Oh yes, that's right, I wanted you all to think about what you would do to entertain yourselves in Mordor.", Khamûl remembered. "So, what did you come up with? Dumân?"

"Well, the thing that I can do here that gives me the most joy would probably be executing orcs and slaves and the like. Maybe torturing them beforehand.", Dumân answered.

"Okay, maybe that is not the best thing we can do. You, Tharelion?"

"I came to the same conclusion, Master, there is not much to do here, especially with how bad the economy is.", Tharelion replied.

"Did anyone of you come to any different conclusion? You?", Khamûl asked in desperation.

"Yes. I do enjoy hiking on Mount Doom, although it can get very hot and you need to wear a cloth in front of your face when the wind blows in your direction. But it is very nice, the view of Mordor is spectacular!", the Mouth said.

"Yes, and when I go on holidays, I go to the Sea of Núrnen and this fabulous Spa they have built there! It is really relaxing, especially when I have to deal with twats like you on the daily!", Heather chimed in.

"Yes, I can imagine that this must be good. Do they have one of those mud-baths or whatever they are called?", Khamûl asked, doing his best to reign in his temper. 'She is doing this deliberately, don't fall for it, don't fall for it…', he thought.

"Yes, they do have them. But they are not as good as you would think, since…", Heather went on but Khamûl and the rest of the Nazgûls stopped listening.

"I have not told you why you are here, and I can see that you are starting to lose your patience, so let me enlighten you. Our situation is dire, as in capital punishment and letter D dire. Our Lord nearly has no money left, all the warring in the past has eaten a giant hole into the war-chest. And now he has come up with a solution, or at least ordered us to form a solution from his idea. His lordship's idea will most certainly shock you and my earlier exercise was intended to give you a hint about what it is.", Khamûl said to the eagerly listening horde of Nazgûls. The Mouth had diverted his attention to Heather and her tales about the Núrnen-Spa experience.

Khamûl breathed heavily and told his companions what they would have to do.

"We are tasked with organizing Mordor, so that it can be presented to our guests. They ought to be in awe and so impressed with what we have created, that they should want to visit us again, and that every holiday season. Middle Earth should not be conquered by force, but by the desire to be ruled over by our Lord. And I would say that he has gone absolutely mental, but then he would probably kill me.", the ringwraith said, his head hanging down and a lonely tear falling out of the void.

"What?"

"You're pulling my leg!"

"Did we forget your birthday? Are you punishing us with this, or what?"

"I left Poker for this? I was winning!"

Pandemonium broke out at the Nazgûl table, all of them accusing Khamûl of pulling a prank on them. All but one. The Witch King's void looked thoughtful, until he finally said: "Khamûl, you are serious aren't you? You, would not have gone through all this trouble only to have us shout at you, and accuse you of being a liar?"

"Yes. I am serious."

The Nazgûl looked incredulously from their leader to the second in command. He was not joking, this was real, they were promoted, or possibly demoted, to Mordor's PR Managers. The times were changing, and they did not approve of it, they did not like it and they did not want it. Damnit.

"I hope that you can stomach this-", Dumân fainted, "oh, well Dumân can't, but I hope that the rest of us is able to survive this. Remember, we have been around for a quite a few millennia now and already faced a few calamitous situations and we are still here, so we are going to get through this too! There has not been a single Nazgûl that couldn't take the lemons life handed him and make it into the best lemonade that ever graced the taste buds! It would be treacherous to even consider this too great a task for us, as despair is not in the vocabulary of Mordor's greatest servants!", Khamûl held his heartfelt speech and painted the picture of a glorious victory against overwhelming odds and ferocious foes.

"HORRAY! HORRAY! HORRAY!", the Mouth cheered, clearly moved by the Nazgûls speech. After a while, the rest of them started to cheer too, reluctantly. Even Dumân did so, after he woke up, but it was clear that he did not know what he was cheering for.

"Then let us begin. What do you suggest? Anything short term, ergo something that can be done within a month?", Khamûl asked.

"Frankly I am absolutely in favor of renovating and expanding the Núrnen Spa. From what dear Heather tells me, I can deduce that it is in great need of it. And when that is done, we can invite a few select critics from the peoples of Middle Earth to come here, have a look and the best possible experience and then sent them back, the word of mouth should spread relatively quickly if they loved it.", the Mouth said. Heather agreed and most of the Nazgûls stayed silent.

"Hmm, yes I can see your point. But Heather, please tell me about the Spa, I've never really been there and need more information about it."

Heather, Khamûl, the Mouth and the rest of the Nazgûls engaged in a long and hard debate about how Mordor, their Lord and the rest of them would be saved by the people of Middle Earth.

"Whew, could you imagine if we had someone who would write out the transcript of this meeting?", the Mouth asked Khamûl.

"No! It was far too much and far too many useless sentences, where I would totally understand if the guy would be unwilling to do it. He, of course, would undoubtedly be an immensely lazy piece of Human Garbage, but what can you do…", Khamûl answered.

"Yes, I suppose, we should not be too hard on him, if it were not for the lazy, the hard working would have no purpose, at least according to my philosophy. Or maybe he should put his hands and brain to use, and have this documented for any later possible uses, but I don't know. Then again, torturing the lazy always is ridiculously easy entertainment.", the Mouth pondered aloud.

"Yes, anyway it is of no pressing matter, as we have decided on what we are going to do and ten have witnessed our conversation. Let's be happy that we have come to a decision at all, Sauron hopefully will.", the Nazgûl said and lead the way to Sauron.

"My Lord?", the project leader called from the door to Sauron's room.

"Yes, come in. I hope you have come to a feasible conclusion.", Sauron called back.

"My Lord, we have done our best, our very best, to get our desired outcome.", the Mouth said as they stepped into the Eyes view.

"Well then, please enlighten me, elucidate to me how we are going to survive this crisis. And tell me everything!", Sauron ordered them.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! Thank you for paying a visit to my story, I hope you liked it! A review with constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! I hope to update the story soon.**

**If I owned any characters or the universe in which this story is set, I would not have to write a disclaimer. Yet I don't own any of them and so I do not lay claim to it. Sigh.**


	2. Chapter 2

"For the short term victory we need in the grievous footing we are standing on, we ought to present an image that shows us as changed. Changed for the better that is, as we want to please and not antagonize Middle Earth. Prolific Pleasure, not pandemic pain, is what we want to present them, and therefore we make the proposition to renovate and expand the Núrnen Spa, and to rename it to "Núrnen-Nexus of Soul and Soma". The title is intended to get to the Elven Demographic, with how much they focus on appearance and health, they would surely love to present themselves once again as better than the rest. The only thing that would really be nursed there is their Ego, as that would be enough for them and save us money in turn.", Khamûl said to an impatiently listening Sauron.

"Yes, yes, what else? This has to move quicker, I need results!", Sauron demanded.

"My Lord, Quality needs time. We only came up with this as a way to get the idiotic, rich elves here and to get them bombarded with advertising and marketing, they will probably believe it. We only intended to do this first, while we sent the orcs on a mission to charter the Eastern Lands, they should prove far more useful doing that, than being here and scaring the wannabe Gods.", Khamûl retorted.

"The Eastern Lands? Khamûl, exactly you were from the Eastern Lands before you became the pathetic creature you are now! You should know how the landscape and population there looks! Are you trying to sell me for a fool?", Sauron barked at the Nazgûl.

"That might have been the case, my Lord, but it has been numerous milennia since I last was there! Just about everything has probably changed since then, I cant even imagine how it looks now! And maybe they find something new and useful on their travels, something to exploit later on. We, that is everyone but Heather here, share the same opinion-that colonialism ought to be reintroduced.", an offended Khamûl said.

"So that is all? Just building up the Spa and hope that it goes well? Tell me that there are some plans for the future, a future in which Núrnen worked!", Sauron ordered.

"We plan on touring Middle Earth with a circus act!", Tharelion blurted out, unable to hold in his excitement.

"WHAT!", Sauron boomed.

"Oh dear...", the Mouth lamented.

"Yes, My Lord, we plan on using the Mumâkils from-"

"What Tharelion is trying to say, but miserably failing at, is that he had the plan to form a Circus and tour Middle Earth. Showcased there would be a number of acrobatic masterpieces, alongside the best culture Mordor has to offer. This, in his imagination, would prove so successful, that we would drown in Money.", Khamûl cut in, trying to minimize the damage Tharelion was causing.

The Eye looked frantically at every one of them, although most had their heads downcast, or were looking in another direction. Then the Eye looked at the sky, as if it wanted to blink in desperation. 'Stay calm, you can punish them later, now we need a plan, stay calm...", Sauron thought to calm himself down.

"Okay, and how would this act look like? How long would you tour and where would you go?", Sauron asked, each word painfully strained. A vein of the Mouths neck seemingly burst when he finished.

"Sauron, may I go and pay the toilet a visit? It is rather urgent...", Heather inquired.

"Oh, Mount Doom erupting, hm? Yes, you may go.", Sauron told her. Heather thanked him and went "to the toilet", which consisted of a cigarette and a round of gossip with the orc guards.

"My lord, we have not decided that we are going on a tour at all, but Tharelion plans to visit pretty much every place they let him in.", The Witch King answered, "Among various acrobatic stunts that he is supposedly able to do, he plans to show the fellbeasts to the populace that wants to see them, or rather dares. Also the idea of hiring a few of the Mumâkils for the circus has crossed his imbecilic mind, much to the displeasure of us all."

Sauron saw his opportunity to punish the idiots. "Good! I support his idea, you should all do this! And Tharelion will be in charge of the program."

Khamûl, the Witch King and the rest of the Nazgûls were not amused. Only Tharelion was, as he jumped in joy.

"But what other conclusions have you come to? There has to be more!", Sauron questioned.

"We came up with an idea to turn Mount Doom into a hiking and adventure park! The demographic therefore is most usually those city dwellers from Gondor and their frankly disgusting tendencies and needs to present themselves as better than the people from the countryside. You know, they would most likely pay good money to be on a mountain once in their lives, and we could probably manage to get a slave-transport-system going, which the fattest of them would gladly pay for. This should also get the numbers back into black, but we also would have to spend an insane amount of money on the security and infrastructure. Just to think that one of the children might fall into the volcano… that is nothing more than a screaming lawsuit in waiting, a lawsuit even the best lawyer could not help us with.", the Mouth held a speech once more, and surprisingly the Eye seemed to listen attentively. The Mouth's mouth stood wide open for a splitsecond, but since he was an impressive showman, he caught himself quickly and continued.

"Concerning the adventure park, as of yet, we have decided to make it very child friendly and have a focus on competitive activities. Ren thought of taking a few prisoners in the east and have them be the prize they can win, after that its either theirs or maybe they can be thrown into the volcano or something along those lines. I personally do support this, as I believe it to be the right incentive to take part in the fun, really and we also cannot afford to lose the slaves currently employed, took long enough to get them.", the Mouth finished. He was the largest driving force behind it and hoped that he would be in charge of the project, as he did not trust anyone else to take control over Mount Doom, the Nazgûls could rot in their stupid clubhouse for all he cared.

Sauron considered this carefully. It was the only thing he could see himself giving some minimal support, even if it would mean that his favourite Mountain would have to suffer. But then again, throwing a few idiots down into the lava was always a fun way to entertain yourself and others.

"Then get to work!", Sauron commanded Khamûl and the rest of the team.

"Yes, My Lord!", Khamûl said and shooed the group out. On the way to the orc construction coordinators, they picked up Heather and, once again putting the crocodile row policy in place, Khamûl had to endure the constant bickering and insulting from his companions.

The walk there was plagued by a bunch of idiotic orcs that seemed to think, although their drunken state might have had an impact on their actions, that spitting on the Nazgûl was a good idea.

"Well, do not let it be said that we are not gracious Masters, we gave them a warning before they unfortunately crossed ways with our blades. ", the Mouth said.

"True, although I cannot entirely blame their actions on themselves, the economy here is truly terrible and we need to project a better image to them. Look, if we solely appear as punishers that do not value outstanding achievements from our subjects, we will be even less popular than we are now. And that is not something we want, fear is not a good motivator. It may get a singular, quick short term result, yet it is terrible in the long term, as it will force the employees to hide secrets that ought to be presented, for they are essential to the wellbeing of both employee and employer.", Khamûl said. The Witch King gave a thoughtful hum and the Mouth frowned.

"But punishment is important! Otherwise they might forget who is in charge of them and they might get lazy! What then, if open laziness is allowed and we forbid it, then they will do it in secrecy and we have to look extra hard!", the Mouth said.

"You all are a bunch of Morons, that is what I believe. Does anyone of you really think that you as a being matter in the grand scheme of things?", Heather interrupted angrily, "The only thing that matters is Money and your ability to make it, to make the highest possible amount of it! Your life is not invaluable, it all depends on perspective. Someone who believes that a life cannot be valued in money and a Slaver of Trafficker have vastly different views on life, but each one of them will be clinging to theirs relentlessly." The hooded figures and the Mouth all stopped and stared at her intently.

"Frankly, my dear Heather, I had not known that you had such an interest in this area of study. I really am impressed, I have to admit.", the Mouth finally said, as he was the first one to regain his voice.

"Yes, having to deal with the people Sauron associates pretty much on the daily gives you plenty to think about. It is quite frightening really, the first time my thoughts started to drift into this direction, I swore to myself on everything that I truly cared about, that I would stop it, yet I failed miserably. Quite a shame, really.", Heather replied.

"Huh, now that you mention it, I can imagine. And not even talking about how he himself behaves, I mean look at this. US- the most terrifying creatures in this world, reduced to organizing a Spa that caters to rich elves! What was he thinking if he is able to think at all, or at least beyond ruling Middle Earth.", The Witch King grumbled.

"He is really just an idiot that somehow manages to stay in charge of Mordor!", Dûman said.

"Now, now, you would do better with that mouth of yours shut. You are a Nazgûl, not a Nastygûl!", Khamûl reprimanded him, "Believe me, I will sell you out to him, through your company I have strained my nerves enough already."

A scolded Dûman and the rest of the troupe marched on and soon found themselves standing in front of the dingy little shack that was the Headquarters of ConstructOrc Inc. and the Boss, Trazîl. The Mouth rang the doorbell and a little "Ding...Dong...Ding..." could be heard coming from inside and after a short while, the door opened and a very thin Orc stepped out.

"Shall Mordor's Darkness rule eternally!", he greeted them.

"What?", the Witch Kind asked bewildered.

"Its a greeting they have here, rather traditionalist and a fad from a few dozen centuries ago, I believe.", Ren told their leader. He regarded the Orc with an unsure expression "Huh, one would have thought that I remember something like that..."

"Yes… Same to you too.", he finally replied. "Oh my, you are skinnier than a bone , when is the last time you have eaten anything?"

"My Lord, I ate something yesterday, but I cannot really afford to eat with all the financial hardships that have befallen us over the time. What can I do for you, oh great Lordships?", he inquired, the tone a bit bothered by the greeting he received.

"We come here on a mission from our Lord Sauron himself. He ordered us to renovate the Núrnen Spa, and possibly enrich it with a few extra… Spa things. Now, you are in charge of Mordor's construction, so you have to do this. And do it fast, we need the money.", Khamûl said.

"Renovate that old thing? That is a bottomless pit, no matter how much money you throw in, you won't get it back! And why would you want that? Who in Middle Earth would want to come here and get treatment?", the orc asked, unable to make sense of their orders.

"You get paid to work and not to ask-"

"We need the money, since there is about as much capital left in Mordor, as you have brains in your skull. Now, who has Money? That's right, the Elves do! They have so much Money, that they don't even need most of it, but who does? Right again, the beings of Mordor. So, there you have it, you renovate the Spa, the elves come here and we get to eat three meals a day again!", the Witch King cut in. "I mean, even your Headquarters… I would prefer to live in Shelobs cave over this."

"Okay… I will try to make it happen. But it will take time, the Slaves are currently unavailable.", Trazîl replied.

"And why is that the case? Where are they, this needs to happen quickly!", Khamûl shouted, they could not afford to loose precious time.

"Had to sent them to work at the Fields, otherwise we wouldn't have any money to pay the bills, My Lord.", the Orc whimpered.

"THEN RUN AND GET THEM, YOU BLOODY IDIOT!", Khamûl screamed.

"But, we are closed! Work starts again tomorrow and we-"

"NOW!"

"Certainly! Shall Mordor's Darkness rule eternally!", the Orc spluttered out, flailed his arms around and ran for his life and workforce.

"Well, that went about as well as expected, considering that we don't really have any plans on how to do it ourselves.", the Mouth said. "What are we going to do now?", he asked a Khamûl who tried to reign in his temper.

"We wait. We wait for hope and prosperity to come, to save us from peril. Even if we have to endure the greatest hardship since the rings, we cannot fail in our task.", Khamûl said, and one after another, they set their eyes in the direction of the sunrise, or at least where they thought it vaguely was.

XxX

"This is it. This will be what saves us and Mordor.", Khamûl said.

The Spa had been renovated in a remarkable time, even for the standards of slaves lately. The entire floor had been remodeled with a very complex Mosaic that depicted a beautiful cluster of the colors white, gold and turquoise. The walls had been torn down for the most part and refilled with neatly woven nets that let a warm, gentle breeze flow through the entire building and also gave the illusion of being in a dense, yet bright forest. The torches had been removed and in their place were now expertly crafted lanterns, that gave a warming glow and were an eye catcher at night. The pools had been enlarged and also had the beautiful mosaic in them.

An indoor slide let the occupants gently move to the grandest new addition of the Spa- the submerged Crystalia. Beneath the surface, a room with large Windows let the bathing elves see outside and explore the underwater world of Lake Núrnen. A project that took more effort than the Nazgûls were willing to admit had also been shooed in, where there were great, vividly colored Glass Crystals placed on the Seafloor and beneath them had been, in a marvelous feat of engineering and architecture, chambers placed, that had room for a slave and little fires that illuminated the Crystals.

An artificial beach had been created by grinding up the bones of the mass graves and stretching it with ash of Mount Doom. This gave the beach a very distinct and memorable look and a far more pleasant feeling than regular sand, making even the Mouth declare his approval of the heaven his feet were touching.

A new Massaging and Beauty Treatment facility had also found a new home inside of the Spa. It had basically been the brainchild of Heather, who had spent day and night tormenting Trazîl to get every little and even the most insignificant details correctly jotted down. The orc had often times longingly gazed at his sword, but remembered what Sauron would do to him if he fulfilled his dreams and made a finger puppet out of Heather's tongue. So he wrote and draw everything she wanted, or at least the budget allowed, including the Bubble bath, where down below the bath would be dozens of slaves blowing bubbles, and the Massage and Wellness booths, where the newly famous "Healing Mud" Lake Núrnen harbored would be applied to anyone asking and paying the hefty price for it.

The hardest part, without argument, was to convince Sauron to help them. With his current body of being a giant, beaming eye, he would play a vital part in the Spa. It took 37 dead orcs for him to let his anger out, but finally, the Dark Lord could be convinced that he would just have to be the Solarium for the Elves. The Nazgûls were although not very supportive of making Sauron do this every day, once per week had to be enough, otherwise he would probably roast the Elves alive and that was nothing they needed, only wanted.

The Spa could house two hundred Elves at once, giving them either a dwelling on the shores, or an overwater villa, which they could reach by a network of wooden footbridges. The villas where each equipped with a large bed, spacious bathroom and an opening to watch the stars of the universe.

The Nazgûls and the Mouth were all accepting that this had to be enough for the elves, for there was no money left. No one could get paid until they finally had enough visitors. But there was one who was more than pleased, who was ecstatic about the new Spa, Heather. She loved everything about it, and even baked a cake for Trazîl from the last, remaining ingredients she had.

"This ought to do it, at least I hope so.", the Mouth said.

"Alright then, lets send out the envoys!", Khamûl clapped in his hands and his thoughts turned to the problem of how to figure out how they would decide who to sent to the far away places.

XxX

"Those of you who can finish the obstacle course the fastest, will be rewarded with a grand prize!", Khamûl shouted to the masses of orcs standing beneath him. Their eyes warily overlooked the shabby and battered looking constructions in front of them.

"Everyone of you will go on their own, and if there is any interference, I will personally punish them. And let me warn you, today I woke up with a desire to flay someone alive and that thirst has, as of yet, not been quenched. Now, my assistant here will read out the Names of you alphabetically and you will step forward. Then the Mouth will blow a whistle and you will go until you reach the goalpost back there somewhere. Naturally, the fastest few will be rewarded with a grand prize, while the rest of you pathetic creatures can go back to your bumbling and drooling!", Khamûl shouted and made a show of overlooking them. Then he motioned for Heather to begin with the name calling and the Mouth to get ready. The Witch King stood at the other end near the goal and made sure that the flag stayed hoisted, eagerly awaiting the first orc to get there.

"Aberkal the Pyromaniac, if you please would!", Heather shouted. A ruffle went through the orcs and after a little while, the orc stepped forth.

"On your marks, ready, set, GO!", the Mouth shouted and whistled as loud as he could.

The orc sprinted and was soon faced with the first of many obstacles, a yellow brick wall. He jumped over it and saw a goblin, dressed up as a mushroom, slouching towards him. Jumping on top of the enslaved creature, stomping it into the ground during the process, he came to a quick halt in front of a seemingly bottomless pit.

"Huh, does better than I expected. Did anyone of you think he would get past the flesh eating plant?", Khamûl asked the two assistans beside him.

"No, not really. But I'm interested in how he will mange the troll in the monkey suit, doubt that he can jump that many barrels.", the Mouth said in awe.

"Yeah, I think so too. Oh and Khamûl, if you even think about suggesting for me to dress up in a Frock and act like a princess so that one of them can 'rescue' me, I will set you on fire while you sleep.", Heather threatened Khamûl.

The spectacle went on for a while, and after many frustrations for the Ringwraiths pockets and their misplaced bets, the winners had been determined.

"Now come forth and follow me, then you will receive your prize! The rest of you can go back to being disgusting and pitiful, and whatever else you do during your free time!", Khamûl shouted to the masses. The orcs scuttled and pulled the few who had lost too many limbs to move on their own behind them, while the three winners headed for Khamûl and his grand prize.

"First of all, I congratulate each and every one of you for beating this vicious course. It was an achievement that only few can claim as their own, and now you belong to this small circle, Congratulations!", Khamûl expressed his happiness with outcome. The three orcs had big and teethy, winning smiles on their faces.

"Here you go, your prize for your efforts!", Khamûl said and handed each of them a bundle of papers. They opened it and their jaws dropped to the floor.

_**Are you tired of being around your Neighbour, who only complains about his hardships?**_

_**Are you exhausted by the constant bickering of your family, **__**judging you for every decision?**_

_**Do you want to get away from it, a holiday only with your loved ones, or possibly solely yourself?**_

_**Do not despair, for there is a solution to those problems. A solution created only for you and your need**__**s**__**. **__**Proudly, we present:**_

_** N**__**ÙRNEN-NEXUS OF SOUL AND SOMA**_

_**What is "Nùrnen-Nexus of Soul and Soma"? The answer is: A newly built Spa at the shores of Lake Núrnen, harboring only the most exquisite and qualitative treatment for your troubles and worries. **_

_** Included in this **__**middle earthly paradise are: **_

_** Multiple Pools with healthy and **__**vitalizing**__** water **_

_**The first of its kind Crystalia, an amazing underwater World of Wonders **_

_**Professional Health Care**__**, M**__**assages and Acupuncture with **__**amiable, trained**__** Personnel**_

_**You, the visitor, will receive an **__**accommodation**__** in which you will receive the quality you deserve. **__**Everything you had to endure, every pain and problem, all the long and lonely moments of despair, all of it was worth it for a week of Núrnen. Do yourself a favour, experience life how it was intended to be and visit the Spa in which your dreams will come true. We **__**are waiting for you.**_

_**Directions to the Spa can be found on the backside, as well as an address for all your customer service related questions.**_

"Yes, I know, its really something special. I'm really proud of the Mouth, he managed to come up with it pretty quickly too, and also a big Thank You to Dumân, who did those terrific illustrations.", Khamûl told them with far too joyful tone for a Nazgûl.

"I can't believe it! We really get to have a vacation at the Spa?!", the fastest orc happily exclaimed, the other two nodding in incredulous agreement.

"What? No, you bloody fools, what is wrong with you? You going to the Spa!", Khamûl snorted and the rest of the team collapsed in deafening laughter. The smiles vanished off the winners faces and an expression of immense disappointment etched itself in the former's place. A lonely tear started to roll down Number two's cheek as three of the Nazgûls passed out from the lack of air.

"No, no, you're not going to the Spa", Khamûl panted after he got up and caught himself somewhat able to talk again, "No, you have been chosen to bring this message to three elvish critics and convince them to come here and test out the spa. Since you were able to beat the course, you are most likely to survive the journey."

"Are you serious?"

"I should have jumped down that bottomless pit."

"Now stop complaining, or Tinkerbell gets to have you for her late night snack.", the Witch King cut off their lamentations.

"We will give you a few tips on how to hold a successful sales pitch and then you will be off, understood?", the Mouth said. The orcs were instructed on how to hold a sales pitch, stocked up on the few remaining rations left and were sent on their way.

XxX

The Orc messenger knocked on the door of the Elven Palace. He had quite a bit of trouble finding the place, mostly because he could not read the road signs, and now only a very famous Elven critic to convince remained.

"Who is it and what is the purpose of the disturbance?", came from a small opening in the door. The orc was too small to see through it, and the guard too tall to get a proper look at the guest.

"I bring a message from my Master to Yours, a request for his expertise and help it is.", the orc recited his text. Took him a fair amount of time to learn, but since the Mouth was a good teacher and the fear he had of the Witch King helped a lot, he was able to do it quickly enough. The Elf at the door had meanwhile moved to the lower set peephole.

"AH! What unfortunate creature are you? Has a sickness befallen your body, tell me!", the shocked Elf shouted at him.

"Excuse me?", the orc loudly asked. He knew that the Elves were very arrogant and saw themselves often as better than other races, but this was outrageous. "How dare you call me ugly, have you got no manners?"

The Elf took another look and vomited through the hole, onto the orc.

"That's it! You'll die for that, filthy Elf!", he screamed and swung his axe at the door, smashing it through the door and nearly killing his opponent. But the Elf was quicker and shot an arrow right through the attackers eye, killing him instantly. Realizing what he had done, he quickly put his bow and arrows away and tried to drag the dead body into a hiding spot, only to be noticed by the highest Elf of the Houses hierarchy.

"What have you done now?", the Critic asked, annoyed.

"Huh? Oh, my Lord, I uh… he tried to kill me so I had to shoot him!"

"Who tried to kill you?", the Master asked, as he could not see the face beneath the vomit.

"This disgusting creature, he ought to be happy that I ended his miserable existence! Just take a look at his abominable face, an utterly revolting sight!", he muttered while wiping the vomit of the face. The critic nearly had a heart attack at seeing the face, but could hold himself together.

"I see. Yes, I agree that this orc is an enormous challenge for our eyes. Yet we must ask ourselves why he is here at all. A lone orc without company, rapping on our door at noon, this is very much out of the ordinary. Search him, maybe he has something on him that could explain the situation.", the Master ordered and his guard obliged. The only thing of value he found was a small note that looked suspiciously like a cue card with a few hastily written lines on it, and a very uninteresting and bland flyer for something named "Núrnen-Nexus of Soul and Soma", that might at one point have been used as a toilet paper substitute.

"Let us have a look at this and determine the magnitude of your mistake, shall we?", the Master told the insolent servant, who quivered at the words.

"Now, what have we here… Invitation… Núrnen… exquisite Spa, first of its kind… Free of charge-", the Master suspected a dawning realization,"What does the note say, what is written down?"

"I don't know, its in Black Speech I believe, oh wait, on the backside it is written in the common tongue. 'Greet with: Great Elven Master _, come to you with offer of peace-prosperity on both of our behalves-Tell about Spa and the peaceful travel to Mordor thing, and how they can do it for free, only a critique in return for a week at the Spa-Thank you for your hospitality-Leave directions to Spa-Say thank you to all offers and don't insult anyone(!)-Leave with a bow and do not make any rude comments about them!'. Seems like he wanted to invite us to this Spa and I killed him, oh Bollocks!"

"Indeed, that is what I suspected. Great, absolutely splendid. Now what?", the Critic started to succumb to the despair. "It would only be appropriate to go there and see this Spa, after you killed him. Thank you for that by the way, you should really be grateful that I am afraid of Mother yours, dear sister mine she is and terrible danger she bodes when angered. Frankly, I am quite sick of this and therefore order you to take sick leave for the next five decades."

"My Lord, I am an Elf, I cannot be sick?"

"Exactly, which is why you should do everything in your power to find out how you can be sick.", the Master angrily muttered.

Beneath them the orc lay in a pool of his own blood and a small shudder, caused by the arrow in his skull, went through the body and with a little, quiet fizz the orc's last meal left his rectum.

"Sigh."

XxX

"Please! NO-"

"Abhorrent monstrosity!", the elvish Spear man spat, as his weapon pierced the skull of the orc and drove him into the ground.

"Can't remember when we last killed an Orc, must have been centuries ago.", the second rider shouted to the first.

"Indeed, I believe so too. Lets take him with us, back to the Master's Villa. Maybe he can figure out why one those creatures dares to cross into our lands.", he said and bound a rope around the dead body, dragging it behind his horse, back to his Masters residence. Arriving at the gates, they were spotted and greeted by him.

"Now what is this, cannot be an Orc, can it?", the Lord called from his veranda.

"It is, my Lord! It's an Orc we found lurking around outside the House. Killed him on sight, I did."

"Outside the House? Only one of them, or have you seen others accompanying him?"

"No, only this one, Sir. Searched the entire area and found nothing more than this poor sod. Shame, would have liked me a few more, get a bit of training done.", the Elf spoke, carefully trying to keep to the rules of the accent game he and his master had going on.

"Has he stated his reason for coming to our domain, or have you butchered him down before he could utter any logical reasons?", the Master asked.

"Uh, to be honest… my spear replaced his tongue, my Lord. I did not think much about what I should do, I just saw his face, it frightened me and so I put him down. Sorry for the inconvenience, My Lord. Wont happen again, promise on me hair, I do!", the guard said, with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Oh my, one of the few things truly holy to thee you swear on, in front of an audience of witnesses nonetheless. Well, well, so shall it be, if you do something as stupid as this again, I'll personally burn it in front of you.", the Elven master laughed. "Now check the body for anything valuable, maybe you can salvage some information."

"Yes, Master.", he growled, realizing what he had condemned himself to and how careful he would have to tread in the future. He started to search the orc and found a leaflet and a little note with a few hastily scribbled lines on it.

"Here, my Lord, a flyer and a note the savage had on him.", he said and handed the observing Master the few belongings of the dead orc.

"Now what do we have here… Newly built Spa in Núrnen… Invitation to test it out… A week consisting of a bed, breakfast, lunch and dinner and full access to the Spa activities, personal assistant guaranteed… Great Elven Master _- My Master invites you-"

"This is an invitation for me to go to a Spa they have built in Mordor, free of charge and all expenses included. Wow.", the Master told the listeners. They were just as astonished as he was.

"Are there directions included?"

XxX

Now, what possible reason could have motivated you to come here, seeking me?"

"Here I would have to say my Master, the Witch King, the very sharp sword he carries and his tendencies to have outbursts of uncontrollable rage.", the orc messenger responded after a little while. He was kneeling in front of the elvish critic, a knife held to his throat and being subjected to a rather uncomfortable questioning.

"I presume that he sent you here with some quest accompanying you, is it of a nefarious nature? And am I correct in my former presumption?", the Elf inquired.

"Yes and No. My Master sent me here to bring you an invitation, which I could recite if I were allowed to get my cue card out, but your dog has his teeth at my neck-", the guard pressed his dagger noticeably harder, "alright, he is just doing his job, I understand. Now, he sent me here so that I could bring you an invitation to visit the newly built Spa at Lake Núrnen, all expenses paid for and you can stay there for a week. All he asks for in return is an honest review and constructive criticism, alongside a recommendation to your fellow kinship.", the messenger finished, trying to subtly edge away from the sharp blade.

"I see.", the Master said let out a heavy sigh. "I could really put someone like you to good use, the skill at improvisation you just showcased must be unrivaled for a hundred leagues, not to mention that it was thoroughly entertaining. Yet sadly, I cannot, since my fellow elves would not accept your presence. They call themselves enlightened and progressive, yet are far too narrow minded to accept a being from your race in their midst. But you are not alone, for the dwarves also get discriminated against, sometimes even worse than you. It is a sad reality that I cannot change, not in a hundred of your lifetimes, so I must say farewell to you. I will let you choose the way you want to perish, for I believe that someone not guilty of any other crime than existence should be allowed to choose the path they desire, so that they will meet their creator."

"What? No, I'm serious! I really am, this is nothing but the truth!", the orc panicked.

"And you expect me to believe this? I have a reputation to uphold and your story would see this hard earned reputation move out and never look back!"

"Please! Please let me get out the documents I have with me, I can prove it!", the orc pleaded and the Elf looked pitying down on him.

"Alright, if that is your last wish, it shall be granted. Guard, take out the documents he carries.", the Elf commanded.

"Yes, my Lord", the guard replied and started to search the prisoner. After a few shocking gasps and groans of despair, the papers had been found and handed to the Overseer.

"These notes are written in Black speech, could you possibly -"

"On the backside it is also in the common tongue, had to write in both languages as to have evidence!"

The Master gave a nod, turned the note and started to read, his eyes gaining in size with every line. A few incredulous looks at the prisoner, who only gave an uneasy smile in return, he returned to the papers and started to read again.

"That cannot be possible, it simply cannot be. You were telling the truth. Your master and the Witch King do indeed need my help. And please forgive me asking here, but is there any chance that they have gone mad?", the critic said after a long while and multiple readings of the papers.

"Frankly, there is. But in this case, they are absolutely serious and do not want any trouble. They simply want you to test it out and give a review and recommendation.", the orc spoke.

The critic gave him a big smile. He could not believe the incredibility of the situation and decided to just go with it. "Alright, lets go then. If you need to use the toilet, please do it now."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! A review with constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, Thank You!**


	3. Chapter 3

XxX

The Nazgûls had been ordered to present the current position and advances to Sauron, which now found them standing in front of the Barad-dûr, the eye observing them closely.

"And? What has happened so far?"

"The messengers have been sent and should have delivered the messages already, at least according to my calculations, my Lord.", Khamûl said. "The critics should be arriving soon, and as of this morning, the Spa has been thoroughly checked for any possible problems and complaints they could have. Found has been nothing except one loose nail, which has been quickly corrected, as observed by myself. It is in pristine condition and should be for their liking, my Lord."

"Good, very good. What about the orcs, what are we going to do with them once they have arrived?", Sauron asked.

"What do you mean, my Lord, what about them?", the Witch King said.

"What I mean is how we are going to hide them? Do you think that those fancy elvish morons will give us a good review if they even see a single one of them? Because they won't, they will never return if that happens!", Sauron furiously barked at the Nazgûl.

"We had the plan to send the orcs off to charter the eastern lands, but that was only for the time when the real visitors arrive, not for those reviewers...", Zerkal pondered.

"How about we kill them?", Tharelion suggested, but he quickly lost his voice when the eye threateningly looked down on him.

"No, I still need an army in case of an invasion, since you bunch of imbeciles are too daft to fend off more than a dozen pigeons at once!", the tower angrily muttered and Heather could be heard chuckling from her room.

"We could paint them white and show the supposed effects of the spa?"

"Have you ever looked at them? First of all, where would we get all the colour from and secondly, the filth those creatures carry around on them cannot be over painted, but rather scraped of their rotten skin. Seriously, I need an idea on how were going to solve this! Now!", Sauron started to feel the impending doom.

"Hm… How about we tell them to lay on the ground and to not move at all, effectively blending them in with the landscape?", Khamûl suggested.

"Blend in with the landscape? Elvish eyes are just about perfect, they will notice it…"

"But will they notice them if we coat them with ash and say the volcano went off, my Lord?"

"Yes, the elves would notice, they are not as stupid as you and our resident army of useless soldiers.", Sauron responded.

"Maybe we should just object their view of Mordor? Would be much easier to make that happen, in my eyes at least...", Ren said with a timid voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I am thinking about using the view obstructing fences left over from the Spa's construction site. We could line them up in a straight line, from the Morannon to Lake Núrnen, and the elves would march that way. And maybe, if it is required, we could fly on top the fellbeasts and make sure that the orcs stay quite while they are passing through...", Ren explained. Sauron's giant eye looked down on him, then to the left, thinking thoroughly.

"Morgoth be damned, that could actually work. That will work! We don't have enough fences for the entire way, but we could just have the orcs stay behind them and they would carry it, from the last to the first. Yes, creates the perfect illusion, the elves wont notice a thing! HA!", Sauron had found his solution. "Very good work Ren, I am proud of you! Now, quickly, get to work, we have to be ready for their arrival! And maybe do something better than just scaring them into silence, sew their mouths shut or cut the tongues out, something like that!", Sauron commanded. The horde wished their master farewell and the groaning Nazgûls left the tower, Ren's void beaming from the compliment.

XxX

"Heather? Could you please send in the Mouth, thank you!", Sauron called to his secretary.

"Certainly Boss, anything else?", Heather replied.

"No, thanks, I'll let you know if something should come up!"

The time it took the Mouth to come and stand in front of Sauron was substantially shorter than the Nazgûl average, proving once more that his highest servants were undeserving of their title. But further demotions would most likely lead to them stirring up civil unrest against him, and they could also be not described as totally useless. Their tactics on how to drive and torture people into insanity were quite handy, aiding him in his goals more often than harming them.

"My dear Mouth, I have a mission for you, which is quite important, I dare say."

"I would be honored to see it succeed, my Lord!", the Mouth replied, his head bowed but spirit strong.

"Wonderful! I am going to need you to take a little trip to the Black Gate, for soon there will be a bunch of elvish critics there that are going to need guidance through Mordor. Yes, the critics that are here to judge the Spa and review it.", Sauron said, his eye looking at the retreating Nazgûls.

"I will journey there as soon as possible, my Lord! Is there anything I should tell them? Any specific area of interest that should be conversed about, as favorable as possible, of course?"

"Yes, there will be something done to ease the elves' journey, I have just sent the Nine to get it organized. You see, the view obstructing fences from the Spa's construction side will be lined up to form a straight line from the Gate to Núrnen. It is not so that they get lost, but so that they won't retreat upon seeing the orcs and their hideousness.", Sauron explained. "Since we are not possessing enough fences to do it all at once, a few orcs will be lined up behind them and carry it from the back to the front once the groups passed. Are you understanding the concept?"

The Mouth's mouth opened to give a confused reply, but he caught himself nearly committing to the act and stopped in the nick of time.

"I think that I understand…"

"Good! Oh, and one more thing that I must ask of you. This I say not to offend you, for any ill-will of you goes against my intentions of our cause, but to help you ease the encounter with the elves. Please take a bath before you go, and maybe brush your teeth!", Sauron timidly told the Mouth.

The Mouth harrumphed loudly and left quickly, not wishing the Dark Lord goodbye,

XxX

The Ringwraiths had gathered the carrier orcs outside Barad-dûr and ordered them to form three lines.

"Everybody, you have been selected for a very important job, so listen up. Very soon, a group of important guests will visit Mordor. They are not very fond of your sight from what we know, so certain precautions have to be made. To prevent the inevitable and ensure that they will not get to hear your presence, we will sow your mouths shut!", the Witch King called to them. A unified widening of the eyes and gasping took involuntarily place among the orcs.

"And those who complain about that, will get their tongues cut out, so you better watch yourselves!"

The orcs reluctantly settled in the chairs prepared for the operations, the Nazgûls disinfected their hands and the silencing began. The slightest whimper from the orcs was punished with the permanent loss of the tongue, which brought the ringwraiths close to absolute silence, only the quick orcish heartbeats of adrenaline-infused fear could be heard. A few of the victims did not manage to keep quiet for the stitching, which resulted in fun times for the Nazgûls.

When Dumân finished up the last carrier, the Witch King ordered the orcs to line up along the road and prepare to march forth. The Nine took the lead and maneuvered them to the shack of Trazîl.

XxX

"Trazîl, get out here!", the Witch King shouted and hammered on the door of the ConstrucOrc Headquarters.

A muffled bang could be heard from inside, followed by a quick walk towards the door. It opened and the sight of a sleepy and uncontrollably yawning Trazîl greeted them.

"Shaaaaaall Mordor's Darkness rule eternally!", he managed to speak out loud.

"Shall Mordor's whatever, how come you are this sleepy, it's just about 2 pm?", the Witch King asked, annoyed.

"Siesta!", Trazîl replied, not noticing the stare of Khamûl.

"Siesta? SIESTA! What is wrong with you, we need every pair of hands working around the clock! Are you telling me you have not been doing preparations for the past 2 hours?!", Khamûl screamed at him.

"Uh, more like 5..."

The Nazgûls watched amused as Khamûl and his charming ways cut off 5 of Trazîl's toes, one for every hour slept and singing the "This little piggy" tune. The agonizing screams of the orc were fairly pleasant and even made the slaves chuckle at the silly antics of their master.

"Will you have one of your little siestas again?", Khamûl hissed at the crying director.

"No, no, my Lord!", he sobbed, while clutching his toes and trying to stop the pool of blood collecting in front of him.

"Good, now we need your assistance. We have been ordered to gather the building fences you have left over from the construction site, where may we find them?", the ringwraith asked while wiping the blood off his dagger.

"In the storage space, behind the shack!", the orc answered with great effort, far too afraid of even severer consequences to not comply instantly.

"Very good!", Khamûl said and went to check out the situation. "Everything seems to be in working order!", he declared and commanded the slaves to carry them to the road outside their workplace.

"Come to think of it, why don't we use the slaves as carriers, they are already here and surely more capable than the orcs...", Tharelion asked the other Nazgûls.

"Once again are we forced to experience your mind and it's many mysteries firsthand. I often wonder how you were able to live and managed to maintain the position of a king as long as you did, for that putrid lump of excrement residing in your head should have made everyone of your servants leave.", Ren hissed.

"...that didn't answer my question."

"We can't use the slaves, because if they saw the elves they would run for their lives and their newfound protectors would see that none of Mordor's many harms reached them. Have you seriously never considered a lobotomy? Maybe you have a tumor in your brain and I could get it out for you!", Ren answered, his words becoming painfully strained the longer he went on.

"...I see, that makes sense. The more you know, the less is show, am I right?", Tharelion laughed nervously.

"Stupid cow."

Khamûl let his two companions fight while he ordered the orcs to take the equipment and line up in formation. This would have to work, the elves had to be pleased!

XxX

"Here we are! The Black Gate of Mordor. It is quite impressive, I know, Legend says that it had been built by by forging the iron and steel of all the weapons that the enemies of Morgoth carried. After he defeated and slaughtered them, naturally.", the orc explained to the Master and his array of guards and companions.

"Really? What I remember is that Sauron built it to guard against any invading force, and he did that far after Morgoth's demise. Are you sure that what you are telling is the truth?", the Master asked and yanked the chain to which the orc was bound.

"Uh… I don't know the exact truth, only what I have heard during training. Forgive me if I said something wrong.", the orc stuttered.

"Yes, I will. You are but a mere soldier without higher education, I doubt that you know much about the history of Mordor, much less Middle Earth. Now, how do we gain access to your Land?", the Master asked and searched for a door bell.

"Usually there are some guards posted on top, but I can't see any. Maybe we should shout to be let in?"

The regular guards had abandoned their positions out of a need for work, as they had not received their loan. Unwilling to risk their life and put up with far too persistent door to door salesmen, they had left the gate undefended and went to search for work elsewhere. This had proven very effective against the salesmen, who had lost all interest in a potential customer who would not even open the door.

"Maybe we should climb it?", one of the elvish guards suggested after they spent nearly an hour looking for an entrance and shouting for someone to notice them.

"That would probably be the best option. Okay everyone, form position three, but warm up before. Muscular tears is the last thing we need now, so do it proper!", the Master ordered his fellow elves. They formed a circle and started to do various exercises, while the orc watched in amuse- and astonishment.

If the orc would ever get back to his comrades and tell them the story of the elvish encounter, they would probably execute him for the suspicion of being a liar. The elves meanwhile had finished warming up and positioned themselves in a circle, their arms interlocking with each other.

The next elf ran towards them, picked up his pace and with a feat orcs would be entirely unable of, jumped on top of the arms. The next one followed and it went on until there were multiple elves standing on top of those below and doing the same interlocking with their arms.

The next level came with an impressive acrobatic spectacle, that left the mouth of the orc far and wide open. This went on until the cylindrical pyramid was high enough for the elvish critic to climb on top and see what the state of affairs was or wasn't.

"Nobody is up here!", he shouted down to the orc. "The entire gate has been abandoned, I can see nobody beyond it, only a few lights in the far away distance!", he shouted for everyone to hear and turned around to see the other side, facing the Marshes and rest of Middle Earth. At first, nothing was out of the ordinary and caught his attention, but then he was able to make out two smaller groups, carrying large torches through the terrain.

Helping three other elves up, he commanded them to open the gate so that they could have a safe haven, should the groups prove hostile.

"Orc, do you know anything about the groups heading towards us? Have you led us into a trap?", the Master shouted with a distressed voice.

"What groups?", the orc asked himself and turned around to look for them. In the very far distance he could make out the dim light.

"I don't know anything about them...", he said loudly and turned around, only to find the critic aiming a bow at him "BUT it is possible that they are just the other two critics that have been asked to come here too! In fact I believe them to be exactly that, and no one that wants to bash our skulls in!", he hastily finished, looking for possible cover.

"And how do I know that you are telling the truth?", the critic asked and shot an arrow between his targets legs. His normally cool temper vanishing rather quickly, as the guards were unable to find the door handle.

"Uh, we, uh, truth be told, Mordor doesn't have the money to lead another war. That is why I was sent to you in the first place, to get you to test out the Spa. Come on, you don't honestly believe that Sauron would do anything for his enemies! A Spa for the elves, absolutely ludicrous!", the orc pleaded for his life.

"Your charming words won't save you this time!", the elf readied to shoot the orc.

"MASTER! We found how to get in!", the guard cried. The door opening mechanism had been located and they found a way how they could possibly open it. It was obvious that it had been designed to be pulled by trolls, but since the gate was abandoned, only a large rock was tied to it. The heavy boulder had been placed in such a position that it had to fall down and could therefore pull the gates open.

The elves aimed and shot the tying strings of the rock with their arrows, causing the rock to fall down and the gate to quickly open. The Master, having forgotten about the orc, commanded his fellow elves into the Land of Mordor. The orc, not wanting to be left outside, quickly hushed inside too. The elves and the orc were now save, or at least as save as the situation allowed. They manned the gate and hid from sight, waiting for the groups to arrive.

XxX

"… now really, this is absolutely disgusting! It stinks, a wretched smell, and dipping a toe into this water would probably kill me in a day!", the second critic complained to his companions. "You just had to kill him, didn't you? Now we have to go here, instead of giving him a friendly 'NO!' and sending him back to this hellscape. Idiot."

"Yes, but I like to see the positive side about it. Have you ever been here before? No? Then it is something new to experience and a further memory to think about! Is that not something, should we not all be grateful for the many memories we acquire?", one of the talkative guards replied.

"How about you try to be a bit more pessimistic about those things? Try to see the world with a new perspective and see how ridiculous you sound, bloody moron.", the critic retorted. "Wait a moment, is that what I think it is?"

The Morannon came into sight, making the Elves gasp. The critic narrowed his eyes and surveyed the area, not noticing the elves hiding on top of the structure.

"Seems like the air is clear, lets have a look at how we can gain entry. Would surely be easier if a certain someone hadn't butchered the messenger!", he threateningly growled to the guard. "Would be easier if we could present evidence for our visit.", the critic said after sufficient observation.

The group marched on, their minds on high alert and bows ready to shoot any attacker. But the closer they came, the quieter the surrounding area turned, greatly increasing their paranoia. The elves on the gate had seen them approach and wanted to greet them amiably, but their master held them back, ordering them to stay out of sight until they could gain the best angle for confrontation.

XxX

"And then it was back in the 1320's of the second age, where I met that spiffing chap. Oh, the 1320's , how I miss them. Those were the times, remember them like it was yesterday, times better than these could not be made by the creator himself. Couldn't do it, I am absolutely certain of it. But where was I, or do you want me to continue about the -"

"Sir, whats that up there?", a guard interrupted the leaders tale. The rest of the fellow elves secretly thanked him, the story telling skills of their master could not be improved with an additional age of honing.

"What did you say?", the master pointed at the gate and the other critic and company standing in front of it. "Oh that, probably just some other travelers, nothing to worry about.

"Sir, would it not be better to get into formation? It's the border to Mordor we are pretty much standing next to, I don't believe that they are friendly!", another guard hastily asked, clutching his bow tightly.

"Oh don't be such a nancy, we won't be attacked by a bunch of travelers, they surely want nothing but peaceful and quiet travels.", the critic retorted.

"But, we are in Mordor's backyard, the orcs -"

"Shut it! Right now, for the sake of sanity!", the critic screamed. "We are simply continuing as we did. No one will bring in any ludicrous assumptions about our fellow tourists!"

They continued to the gate, uninterrupted by any rational comments and soon found themselves face to face with the other critic's group.

"Oh, hello my dear Earenil, what brings you here?", the second critic asked. Both of them did not enjoy each others work or company, but this was an unprecedented situation.

"By the gods, you, Voronwel, how small our beloved Middle Earth has become that the two of us meet here. Astounding, really.", the third answered with a forced smile.

Cowering above them, the first critic to arrive listened to their exchange and had to stop himself from snorting. The orc was right, there were no enemies trying to ambush their group, only the two other most famous critics in the elvish realm. All invited to the Land of Shadows, to test the newly built Spa and give a review. He motioned for his guards to stand up and watch them, as he was certain that they wouldn't notice them.

"So… what brings you here?", Eareniel asked, suspecting the worst.

"Well, you probably won't believe this, but I have been invited to test out a new establishment, here in Mordor. And yes, I know how crazy that sounds, but because polite manners demand it, me and my silly little bunch of servants took this trip here!", Voronwel explained, which Eareniel responded to with an increasingly comprehensive look.

"Please do let me guess. An orc ,that one of your guards killed, brought a message to you, that was an invitation to the Spa 'Núrnen-Nexus of Soul and Soma', and since you killed and felt bad for the whole incident, you came here, prepared for the worst. Am I correct in my assumptions?", Eareniel assumed. His conversational partner blinked a few times, shook his head and said, "What?".

"Yes, I know that because the same happened to me. One of my guards, one of the not-so-bright ones I should mention, did the same. And his arrow caused a chain reaction that apparently ends with the two of us coming here and meeting each other. At this most unlikely place, the Morannon.", the second critic told him. Voronwel had caught himself and was shaking his head slowly, unwilling to believe that this was happening.

"If that is not The coincidence of this age, I don't know what. Are you really serious? The whole journey here so that we can get a taste of Mordor's presumably most luxurious establishment?", Voronwel asked while scratching his head. "That orc was really telling the truth and not pulling a prank on us?"

"Indeed that is the case. But for any further information I am not available at your service, for I myself don't know everything that we will experience further. Okay, here we are now and questions need to be answered. Next step of our, I presume united", Voronwel nodded slowly, "journey would then be to get through this gate. Only the uncertainty of access to this land remains, since I cannot find a doorbell and have no idea how we are going to do this."

"I believe, that I can present the answer to your perilous question!", the third critic shouted at them from atop the gate.

The two other groups quickly turned to see the source of the voice, coming from high above them. They gasped and spotted the third critic and his group.

"What are you -"

"What do you think? Same as you, only that I was here first!", he laughed. "And I also did not kill my orc, he proved to us that the whole thing is in fact not a prank! Do you want to get in?"

The gates opened and the many elves entered into Mordor, only witnessed by Khamûl, who flew high in the sky on top of his fellbeast.

XxX

"Is everything ready?", Khamûl asked after he landed.

"As ready as it's ever going to be!", the Witch King replied with a frown, the Mouth's nodding head reaffirming the sentiment.

In front of them a long row of view obstructing fences had been placed, two silenced orcs hidden behind each one. It had been placed with many narrow S-bends, so that the elves would be less likely to notice the lack of available fences. The only things that could be made out were the mountains surrounding them, Sauron's gigantic looming eye he had turned down to as little brightness as possible and Mount Doom with it's huge ash cloud blowing east.

The Mouth took his place in front of the row and eagerly waited for the critics, trying to think of as many conversational pieces as possible and the nicest ways of wording. At first it was overwhelmingly quiet, but soon footsteps and whispered conversations echoed through the valley of the Gate.

An elvish squire peaked around the corner and saw the shape of the Mouth waiting for them. Seeing the lack of any weaponry besides a dagger, he decided to not shoot and wait for the rest of the company.

The Mouth noticed him and smiled, the thorough brushing had helped wonders and now he could show off the phenomenal set of teeth he possessed. Had the sun shone on them, the elf would have been blinded forever.

Khamûl, the Witch King and rest of the Nazgûls waited out of sight, hoping to snatch away the orc messengers before they could ruin everything. Hastily the group of elves manouvered its way through the unmaintained and badly damaged road that led to Barad-dûr, not noticing the Nazgûls to the side.

The ringwraiths watched every step with great care and examined the travelers, but could only find one of the orcs. The leaders stepped out of the valley and exchanged glances with the Mouth, gripping their elvish blades tightly.

"Greetings, my dear critics! I hope that you have had a journey lacking problems and inconveniences, while the good graces and a fortunate fate has been your steady, loyal companion! I welcome thee all to the Land of Mordor, where you shall find an unforgettable experience in hospitality and joy, I give you my word on that!", the Mouth greeted them loudly, bowed and held his hands open and wide, while a giant smile took form on his face.

"We greet you too, whoever you might be! But since you are welcoming us so warmly, I doubt we have to fear you!", the third critic called, as he was still the most uplifted of their spirits. The other two did not say a word, but surveyed their opponent and the environment around them.

Fences being the first thing they noticed, as they were colored in bright red and had the ConstrucOrc logo on it. They were intrigued by the spectacle and the Mouths performance, giving the Nazgûls a situation to snatch their prisoner.

Khamûl and the Witch King sprinted down from the slopes behind the group and raced for the orc.

The Witch King grabbed him from behind and covered his mouth, while Khamûl wanted to carry the legs. Only in the last moment they noticed the chains around the squirming prisoners hands, and not being able to yank them away or knowing how to pick the lock, they cut off his hands. The orc screamed in anguish, but thanks to the Witch King and Mouth, nobody could hear him and they were able to abduct him unnoticed. The two ringwraiths carried him quickly back to their hiding spot, while he cried horribly in pain and tried to get away.

"Tell us, where are the other two of you?!", Khamûl hissed at him. The Witch King waited until the wailing stopped so that there was a certain answer, but it didn't end. The two looked at each other, uncertain as what to do next, while the orc stared at his hands to see if they were still there and this was just a nightmare. To his horror only two bleeding stumps remained and he fell unconscious at the shocking revelation.

"I have been sent here as your guide! It would be nothing short of terrible, if you would not have found the way towards our exquisite Spa and walked all the long way, no doubt filled with unimaginable hardships. But now that you have a new addition to your fellowship, there is no reason to succumb to despair!", the Mouth presented his talents at showmanship.

The first critic to arrive was not certain about this and wanted to ask their orc. He whistled and pulled the chain, but no answer came.

"Orc?" he asked and turned around, only to see two arms and a pool of blood in place of the orc.

"What the?" he started, but the Mouth cut in.

"I see now that you are missing an orc, or rather the rest of the orc. Do not worry, he likes his Homeland of Mordor so much that he couldn't wait to return to it, there is absolutely no reason to make a fuss about his sudden disappearance! Since we have changed our ways here, the orcs love it and it has found a place in their hearts!"

"He would cut his hands off so that he can go back to Mordor?!", the critic shouted, not able to believe what the Mouth told him. The Mouth smiled uneasily and nodded, gesturing for the elves to start the rest of their journey.

Khamûl and the Witch King took turns slapping the orc across the face. Since it did not work to their advantage, bigger guns had to be brought to the Battlefield. Khamûl's dagger being jammed into his right leg woke him up quickly, the Witch King wisely having silenced him before and so the elves did not notice.

"Where are the other orcs?", the Witch King furiously whispered. The orc wanted to cry again, but the implied threat of Tinkerbell and her insatiable Hunger did force him to reconsider and give an answer.

"I don't know, they were not with the groups of the other elves! I haven't seen them! Please, I don't know, they are probably dead!", he spoke between the gasps for air. Khamûl grumbled, the stupid orcs were incompetent beyond a sane belief.

"What do we do with him?", Khamûl asked the Witch King.

"We can't have him carry the fences, that's pretty obvious. And he has to be silent, otherwise you know what will happen!", the Witch King thought about what to do next. The elves meanwhile had accepted the Mouths proposal and started to walk on their predestined path. "I'll have him guard the Gate, at least he can still talk and run fast enough should an elvish army or something like that approach."

The Mouth led the way, proud of himself for having handled the encounter so professionally.

"As you can see, we are currently reconstructing Mordor into Middle Earths new paradise, it will be the pinnacle of all the beauty you have seen in your long lives!", the Mouth told his crowd while walking. He hoped that the elves wouldn't notice that the red fabric was only because there had been a great loss of limbs during the construction of the Spa and the walls had caught the fluid.

"How far do we have to go to escape the fences, they don't seem to end!", Voronwel asked.

"Oh, they go from the Morannon to the Spa, since essentially the entirety of Mordor is being rebuilt, refurbished and renovated!", the Mouth called back. He hoped that the Nazgûls far above them could keep the orcs in line, since there had been a few noticeable shadows lurking behind the thin fabric.

"Until the Spa? Blimey, your workforce must be beyond professional, I can't hear anything! No hammering, no shoveling, no shouting, absolutely nothing!", Earenil said.

"Yes, yes, they are quite skilled in their profession!", the Mouth laughed nervously. This had to go well, otherwise he would become known as the punching bag of Sauron. He started to talk, or mostly complimenting, with the elves, and they soon found themselves embroiled in discussions concerning philosophies about the many things that could be spared a few more thoughts than they had been given in the past. The many hardships endured by the elves had been politely exaggerated by the Mouth, but they did not mind, it was good to know that even those unable to be affected by disease or age could and should be pitied by the less fortunate.

The walk towards the Spa went quickly and the elves had been entertained far better than they were willing to admit, one can after all not be on good terms with one of Mordor's malicious creatures or enjoy their company with a conscience that lets you sleep at night.

"Now, here we are, finally! It was a pleasure to talk with you all this time, my mind will be occupied with complex thoughts about the many grandiose opinions and wise perspectives you have shown me, and frankly enlightened with.", the Mouth told his crowd.

"This pleasure was mutual, dear Mouth, since you too have given us views about life and values that were previously unknown to us!", the first critic responded, and the others silently agreed. He was brave enough to show his more tolerant views on Mordor, much to the displeasure of the guards and harrumphs of the other critics.

The orcs managed to keep their scheme going, even the running from the front to the back was done remarkably quietly. He had not know the amount of tortured and traumatized orcs the Nazgûls left in their wake, and their heroic deeds to keep the show going.

Amazement was present in every pair of elvish eyes as they walked through the Spa and became little elves again. They were impressed by all the many things that had been constructed for them and awed it whenever they got the chance. The Mouth left them with the personnel and made his way back to Sauron, where he found the Nazgûls and Heather waiting for him.

"So, how did it go, do they like it?", Sauron impatiently asked.

"Yes, my Lord, they do like it! I dare say, love it!", he responded.

"What do they like the most, what complaints have they come up with? How was the journey anyway, any complications?"

"The journey went very well, my Lord, better than expected to be honest. The things we talked about took their mind off the landscape of Mordor and the many perils that could be faced here. At least it did for the critics, the guards were far more concerned about everything!", he responded. "And complaints, I don't recall any, except maybe the temperature of the water, but that can be fixed easily. If you let me, my Lord, I advise you to not worry about it that much, just have confidence in yourself and it will be alright!"

"Yes, I do have to ask a question, that could be seen as a complaint and is also one, but only for you, Mouth!", Khamûl said, "What were you thinking when you told them about us rebuilding the entirety of Mordor? How should we do that, we have less money than that orc has hands!"

"Well, I uh… I just had to say this, so that they could believe the whole tale about us changing in our ways and beliefs and all that! So what if it is a lie, we will simply keep the whole fence thing going and all those elves that will come here are going to believe the same thing! No problem with it, whatsoever!", the Mouth retorted.

Sauron, Heather and the Nazgûls frowned, this had to work or they were doomed. The week passed and the elves went away once more, promising to send them a letter with the critique.

The Mouth eagerly waited at his letterbox, jumping from one foot to the other as the post-orc arrived.

"Good Morning, can't wait for -"

"Shut up! Give me my mail!", the Mouth interrupted and ripped the poor orcs postbag from him.

"Where is it, where is it?", the Mouth hissed and threw letters left and right. "THERE! TO THE MOUTH, MORDOR! Ha! I got it!", he screamed and threw the bag in the post-orcs face. The Mouth sprinted to Sauron as fast as he could and burst through the door, clutching his letter.

"What? It's here! It's here, everyone, come quickly!", Sauron called to Heather and the Nazgûls.

"Dear Mouth… wrote a book about your theories… yadda yadda yadda, where is the review!", he screamed and searched through the letter.

"There! Mordor's newly constructed Spa 'Núrnen-Nexus of Soul and Soma' has been an experience beyond my wildest expectations. When I first got the invitation, I thought of it as a bad joke, yet it proved to be real. My journey there was filled with hardships no elf should ever endure, yet I can say with certainty, that it was worth it. What the forces of Sauron have created has been delightful, a beautiful dream and the best experience of my life all at once. It is the most perfect establishment of its kind, and I doubt that there will ever be something better. I would say that I highly recommend it, but that would be a lie. I think, that this must be experienced by every elf in Middle Earth and that it should be done not only once, but as often as it is somehow possible! More information about what I enjoyed the most can be found on the backside of this review.", the Mouth read to his audience.

"Our salvation has come at last.", Sauron declared.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading the story so far! I hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review with constructive criticism, I really want to improve my writing skills! And a big Thank You to all those that commented so far, it was good to see that you liked it and gave me motivation to continue! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter is easily the worst of the story and I am not very happy with it. I still hope you'll enjoy it, but please don't expect too much. Over the past few weeks, I didn't have much motivation to write and I don't know if this story will even be continued. A bunch of ideas have already been written and I might release them as unofficial ending, but who knows. Thank you for reading!**

**I don't own world or characters, they are owned by the Tolkien Estate and a few others. No money is being made, purely for fun.**

XxX

"I can't keep up with all the demand! We are booked for the next 5 months!", Heather told Sauron, Khamûl and the Mouth. The three sat inside Heathers office, drinking tea and eating crumpets, while Sauron watched from above. The secretary had even brought in a cake to celebrate the success of the Spa and it was gladly accepted by the Nazgûl and the Mouth, who had given her far more attention lately and was behaving nicer in general.

"I presume that the necessary expenses were paid in advance?". Khamûl asked.

"Yes, the premium suites have been paid for, including many of the unnecessary expenses. Those rich elves are even stupider than their names!", Heather laughed. She had visited the Spa many times by now and was aware of what was needed for the experience and what not.

"Very good, outstandingly good in fact. I wanted to talk with you about what is going to happen next, especially since we have found a new source of money.", Sauron said and overlooked the group.

"What do have in mind, my Lord?", the Mouth asked.

"The future of Mordor. Mouth, I know that you have great interest in turning Mount Doom into an adventure and hiding park, or at least I think that to be the case. Am I correct?"

"Yes my Lord, I have the blueprints in my mind and need to speak about it with the builder orc, also I have to wait for the budget to be authorized and then we shall start the construction.", he answered. "Only thing I have not really conceptualized as of yet is the slave transport system for the rich, fat and old Gondorians. But I should be able to do it within the remainder of this amazing week!"

"Mouth, your work ethic is just perfect! Khamûl, take a few notes, would you?", Sauron barked at the Nazgûl, who choked on his tea. He did not know if his master was serious, he never knew since the start of their ridiculous venture.

"Heather, it is also my desire to give you control over the Spa. You have the most enthusiasm and accumulated knowledge about such institutions and I thought it would be fitting to bestow such responsibility upon your capable shoulders.", Sauron instructed her.

"Wow… of course, my Lord, I will do my absolute best to head the Spa and turn it into the peak of luxurious treatment available in Middle Earth! Mordor's best interest will be realized within it, I promise!", Heather replied. It took her a few seconds to get over the shock, but the flustering seeded and she regained her composure.

"And you, dearest Heather, have earned the same respect that the Mouth deserves. Now, this leaves one of you without further work and me therefore unsatisfied. Khamûl?", Sauron said. A small Harrumph answered to the Eye's question.

"Yes, my Lord, what do you have in mind?", Khamûl asked with a low voice.

"Do you remember that little idea Tharelion proposed and I, with my talent to predict the most likely future, have approved?", Sauron taunted.

Khamûl let out a little cough. "No."

"Oh really? Then let me have the honour to reintroduce to you the best idea ever proposed to me during my stay in Mordor.", Sauron continued, while the Mouth and Heather giggled like mad. Khamûl wanted to cry, to be left alone and weep.

"You are going to tour Middle Earth with Tharelions Circus act!", Sauron managed to express, the laughter of the other two had infested him and he was barely able to keep it together.

"Is there any chance that I don't do that?", Khamûl croaked, his voice hoarse from suppressing the cries of despair.

"Of course there is… none!", Sauron roared with laughter, the Mouth and Heather joining in.

Khamûl wiped his tears away and muttered "I hate you guys!".

"Oh, hilarious, I can imagine you bunch of idiots getting stomped by the Mumakîls!", Sauron laughed, tears of joy, if the eye could. "But there is one more thing we have to do before the elves come here, you know the whole send the orcs off to the east to charter how it looks there.", Sauron said.

"So, please tell the Witch King and rest of you to do this, it's quite important!", the Dark Lord ordered Khamûl. Heather, the Mouth and the Nazgûl finished their tea and crumpets, bid the Dark Lord farewell and left for their respective tasks

XxX

The Witch King stood next to his pet, grooming it with a brush and conversing amiably to Tinkerbell. Putting the pink eyelids on it had nearly cost him an arm, but the end result was absolutely worth it and something he would repeat many times in the future, whether his pet wanted it or not. The fixation of his master enabled Khamûl to sneak up to him unnoticed.

"And when the stupid orc treats you badly, you get to eat him! Yes, yes, yes, you do!", he said and patted it lovingly, receiving a relaxed purr in return.

"Chief?"

The Witch King stopped the exquisite treatment of the beast and lifted his head, yet did not turn to look at his vice commander.

"How much did you hear?", he asked, seizing the hilt of his sword preemptively.

"I heard nothing as long as you, Master, do this mission for me.", Khamûl responded, gratefully accepting the opportunity fate presented him.

"What mission?"

Khamûl said, "Do you remember how we had to send off the orcs to charter the eastern lands, once the Spa was operational and the elves came here?"

"Yes."

"Now would be the time for that. Sauron gave me the order to do this, but it seems that you would like to take this great deed from my already tired shoulders...", Khamûl drawled.

"You feel very lucky, don't you? I should be treating you like -"

"I presume that means you will do the job?", Khamûl cut in, not caring for the threats of his master.

"...it would appear this way.", he responded slowly.

"That is just delightful. They are to depart in groups of eight up to a dozen, as quickly as possible. And please inform them to stock up on supplies and everything else necessary to survive, they will need it. Should the likely case of it being required come to pass, teach them the art of cartography as well, thank you!", Khamûl explained to a seething Witch King.

"You are going to regret this. When you least expect it, I will exert brutal revenge upon your miserable existence, just you wait!"

Khamûl left him without acknowledging the statement, the threat would most likely become true sometimes in the future, but until then one could only relax. What Sauron told him before, or rather instructed, in regards to his work ethic had also produced a few troubling thoughts. Therefore, he planned to pay Trazîl a visit and give him the order to prepare the road for the elves. And hey, maybe he could catch him napping again and have a little bit more harmless fun.

XxX

The Nazgûl knocked on the door, and not five seconds later Trazîl burst through it, his feet leaving a bloody trail behind. They were infected and he would would most likely loose them in the near future, but that was the stupid idiots own problem and nothing Khamûl had any concern for.

"Shall Mordors Darkness rule eternally!", he panted.

"Same to you. Surprised by my visit?", Khamûl asked.

"A bit, my Lord, but not as much as last time.", he said with an uneasy smile.

"I can imagine, ha ha! Fun times that were...", Khamûl laughed, to which Trazîl replied with silent disagreement. "Anyway, reason I am here is because you and your company are once more needed by Mordors government. What we have noticed when the elves came was the abhorrent condition of the road they traveled on, which if persists this way, you can most likely imagine would mean a diminished reputation and less profits. This ought to be changed, changed quickly that is, since the new batch of elvish expats is deemed to be arriving fairly soon."

"I understand. Any specific wishes you want me to fulfill? Or just fill up the potholes and move the boulders?", Trazîl replied.

"How long would it take you to pave it with cobblestone? That ought to be done rather soon, can't have the puddles littering the nice boots which weren't made for this terrain.", Khamûl pondered.

"Paving the whole way? That would take months, we have to reopen the quarry for that and transporting the cargo and...", Trazîl lost his temper, much to the Nazgûls annoyance.

"Okay! I get it, you can't do it that quickly and I should not expect it to happen! Then just do the necessary foundation, boulders and potholes and the like.", Khamûl relented.

"Oh, okay, it will be done, my Lord, I shall gather the slaves!", Trazîl replied. "Shall Mordors Darkness rule eternally, my Lord!"

"Yes, I hope it will.", Khamûl responded and watched the orc hurry off.

XxX

"Gather around, you filthy creatures, I have a message to tell you!", the Witch King shouted from atop his fellbeast. The orcs surrounding him obeyed his orders and quickly found themselves fighting with each other over the best spots.

"Now, I will say this once, and one time only. Afterwards you can ask questions, but keep them short and to the point!", he shouted, "You shall be sent off towards the eastern lands, those uncharted, and are going to do a mission of utmost importance, namely chartering everything! The important bits you will do extra carefully and as precisely as you can. Eight to twelve of you will go as one group, and you ought to fill up on as many supplies as you can, because this will take months to complete!", the Lord of the Nazgûls finished. "Questions?"

A few hands timidly rose. "You!"

"Whats chartering?", one of the taller orcs asked. The void twitched.

"Chartering means that you are going to write down as much as you can and draw what you see before your eyes, the landscape.", he said with great difficulty and therefore somewhat controlled temper.

"I can't write!", another orc shouted. The Witch King let out a loud cry, making the orcs scream in pain and terror.

"Who can write?"

A few hands rose, barely enough to assign one to each group, and the Nazgûl had a decision to make. Either he could start to teach them how to write and draw, or he could kill those not needed for the mission.

"Does anyone have a coin?", he asked the orcs. Considering the current economic situation, to which the Spa bookings provided only a minor influx of finances, it was fairly unlikely that a coin resided among his crowd, but it would seem that Fortuna favoured him today.

"Got one!", a small orc with one eye shouted.

"Give it to me!", the Nazgûl ordered and the orc came forward.

"Heads or Tails?"

The orc swallowed nervously and said, "Heads".

'Your choice...', the Witch King thought and tossed the coin. All eyes that could see the coin fly watched anxiously, as it turned and turned, a collective gasping sweeping the crowd as it landed in its casters palm. He placed it on the back of his hand, the other covering it from all the curious eyes and the ringwraith was the first to carefully peer at it.

"The orc chose correctly-HEADS!", he shouted at his audience. Then it was decided, or rather had been. For the coin really showed tails, but the Dark master had decided ahead of time.

"Right then, everyone please form a line from youngest to oldest!", he called to them. They did so and after a lot of shoving, swearing and death threats, were soon standing the way asked of them.

"Would the 20 oldest of you, who cannot write or posses any skill in the art of cartography, follow me, thank you!", he said, waited until they stepped forward and led the way behind his fellbeast. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the orcs heard an orchestra of terrifying screams and pleas for mercy, but soon no voice found its way into their ears any longer. The Witch King stepped out from behind it, cleaning the blood of his sword and shaking his head at the lack of cooperativeness from his subjects.

"Those of you who can write, teach those you think can learn the quickest! The rest of you prepare to leave for this journey, pack additional pairs of socks and the likes! Oh, and does someone have another cloth, this one doesn't absorb any more blood?"

The orcs scurried and build makeshift stools and tables, while Tinkerbell and the ringwraith took off for the next group of orcs.

XxX

The elves stepped through the Morannon, the gate stood wide open, inviting to travellers and unmanned by guards with ill intent.

Seeing into the infamous land of death and dread, they found a road that was in poor condition and many cheap green and blue signs strapped to the mountains surrounding them. Written on them and carved in were directions to the Spa, although the grammar and spelling could have also been seen as modern art.

The mountains to their sides were signposted a bit too well, with hardly any natural rock left, but they only saw it as the work of an overambitious worker, surely he was made employee of the month and it was good to see that even Mordor keeps up with the methods of civilized middle earth.

The path took them to a wide and open area, a smoking volcano and high tower the only things outstanding of the visible landscape. Without any great obstacles was the road they walked on, but it was once more overloaded with signs telling them the way to the Spa. But since it could be far worse, especially in Mordor, they thought nothing more of it.

What could be seen surrounding them elsewhere was best described as dreary and bleak. Burnt, dead soil with only the occasional poisonous shrub and thorny bushes best left untouched could be seen and no life was anywhere to be found. The dreaded orcs of the old tales also seemed to have left, a good thing really, their putrid stench would most likely have sent them running over the water back to Valinor.

Their walk to the Spa was left unnoticed by all creatures save for one, Heather, who stood at the gate to the Spa, waiting for and anticipating them.

XxX

"Welcome to the Middle Earthly Paradise! Welcome to 'Núrnen-Nexus of Soul and Soma'!", Heather shouted excitedly to the elvish visitors. An excited murmuring swept the crowd and the faces turned to each other, telling the opposing faces the many things that stood out and came to their notice about the Spa.

"I hope your journey hitherto went as well as your experience here is going to be, but I honestly do doubt that, since Núrnen could not be topped by an endless journey through your most beautiful imagination! Therefore, grand elvish lords and ladies, you should all enter the Spa as quick as your feet allow it!", Heather said, her skill and grandeur in showmanship rivaling the Mouths'.

The elves did not hesitate to heed her advice and marched as fast as they could to the reception, Heather hot on their heels.

A tumultuous shouting and rambling occurred at the information booth and reception area, where the elves displayed behaviour even the most cynical and uncaring dwarves and orcs would not approve of. The few slaves deemed intelligent and observable enough to service the visitors were overwhelmed by the demands of the extremely spoiled and viciously rude elves, although they would call themselves the best guests one could hope for, and tried to flee, to return working on the fields and mines and be once more subject to the orcish overseers and their unforgiving whips.

Yet they managed to negotiate the conditions of the elvish accommodation and could convince them to leave. Heather watched the spectacle with silent horror, her previous perception of the oldest race in middle earth had substantially changed during the past two hours. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all, leading the Spa and promising Sauron such extraordinary results.

She did a quick observation of the beach and swimming villas, making sure that their guests were safe and secure in their dwellings. Finding no problems worth mentioning, she returned to her private quarters.

XxX

"Trazîl?", the Mouth said while knocking on the sheds front door.

No answer came, no feet could be heard making their way towards the entrance and general silence was everything observable to the ears and eyes of the Mouth.

"Where is that moron…", he muttered and went around the corner and to the back of the building. Once more he was met with deafening silence. Not even the slaves were around, his deduction for their absence being a new project to which they were conscripted, and he had not been informed of. Sighing loudly, he climbed onto his horse and started off towards the tower of Sauron.

The Dark Lord was very busy thinking hard about where his ring was, when a hestiant knock on the door interrupted his mental labour.

"Come in as long as you don't want me to do something!", he called. The door opened, but no one stepped in, only the ridiculously large helmet of the Mouth peered in.

"My Lord?"

"Yes, why are you here?", Sauron responded, a bit angry that the Mouth did not come in but stayed behind the door. Then again, it proved his cunning once more and added to his value.

"Uhm, I wanted to ask you if you had seen Trazîl anywhere, I cannot find that putrid creature in his shed. Has he been sent off with the other orcs, my Lord?", the Mouth asked.

"Trazîl? As in the builder? He should be still in Mordor, we need him after all. Did you not find him near his HQ?"

"No, my Lord, and I also did not find his workforce, which led me to believe that they had been given an assignment which I was not aware of.", the Mouth said.

"How about that… Well, I also have no idea where he could be, maybe one of the Nine knows it. Could you please go and get Khamûl?", Sauron asked him.

"I will, my Lord. Let us hope that he has an idea!", the Mouth said.

"Thank you!", Sauron agreed and bid him farewell.

XxX

"Boss?", Heather asked.

"Yes, what is it?", Sauron answered.

"Got a bit of a situation down at the Spa, a group from Mirkwood wants access to the Solarium, since they don't get any sun at home. Now, maybe you remember, but we had your agreement that you would perform this duty.", Heather said quietly.

The eye looked up, thought hard and tried to bring his memory to spill this secret, which it did. The eye turned to Heather and he spoke.

"I do indeed remember, Heather, and I intend to keep this promise. After all, beggars can't be choosers.", he said, letting a relieved sigh escape Heather's lungs. She told him when they were scheduled and left, happy that he had cooperated.

Sauron prepared and counted his seconds, he had to resist the temptation of invading their minds while doing so, but he would manage.

Heather bid her guests into the chamber and onto the beds, signaling a thumbs up to Sauron and his glare moved to the Spa.

Sauron turned the floodlight to a quarter of capacity, with the temperature to one tenth and stared relentlessly at the elves, edging ever closer to reading their minds and maybe turning the heat up for a bit.

Suddenly, an orc burst through the door and panted loudly.

"My Lord, the slaves, they unionized!"

Something deep inside Sauron came perilously close to snapping, which did not stop the intensification of Heat and Capacity.

"This is becoming quite hot here, are you sure this is safe?", one sweating elf asked a sweating Heather.

"Yes, it's safe, don't worry!", she said and turned to look at her boss, nearly blinding herself while doing so.

The Dark Lord finally noticed what he was doing and quickly turned it down, thanking himself for doing the temper control exercises and the ability to reign in his emotions, something he had needed from his frequent contact with the Nazgûls.

The elves thought about bringing in complaints about this, but the last time they had seen sunlight was long ago and if it brought a quicker tan, why not?

XxX

"Your left foot needs to be higher!", Tharelion shouted at Khamûl, to which he received a "Urgh!" in reply. The Nazgûl balanced himself with just one hand on top of a spinning wheel, which itself was suspended on a rope which in turn was tensed above a pool of fire. This acrobatic stunt did take its toll on the ringwraith, but the wrath of Tharelion was even worse should it be directed at him.

"I can't do it! I'll fall off!", he responded, the tone in his voice signaling great distress at the demand.

"You'll do what I say!", Tharelion screamed back at him. The Mouth watched with great interest, but saw that Khamûl was in dire need of him, and the same could be said of the opposite.

"Tharelion, may I borrow Khamûl. I have something to talk with him about, something concerning Sauron.", he asked the Nazgûl.

"After he is done with the exercise!", he responded without looking.

"It is really urgent!", he said with a warning tone. This time, Tharelion looked at him.

"Fine. But do it quickly, or he gets to feel like a Fellbeast.", he responded and cracked his whip. The Mouth could not deny that the Nazgûl knew methods of motivation, but the approval of his workers was severely lacking.

"Thank you.", the Mouth responded while Khamûl was whistled to them.

"Hi there, Khamûl, I have something to talk with you about, if you don't mind."

"I certainly don't!", the Nazgûl replied and shooed him away.

"Your boss doesn't seem very keen on safety, does he?"

"It's horrible! You want to know what he did yesterday, I am still shocked about that! The chief returned yesterday evening from sending off the orcs, and then Tharelion came and said that he would have to be his assistant in the magic show he plans to do. Anyway, he put him in a box, where only his head stuck out at the end, placed him horizontally on a table and pulled out a saw! A real saw and started sawing him in two, right through the middle and did not even stop when he started to scream! We had to pull him off the poor chief, and then he punished us for that too!", Khamûl sobbed into his shoulder.

"There, there, I'm sure it will get better, you yourself said that no task is too great for a Nazgûl to accomplish, remember?", the Mouth said and Khamûl slowly nodded, "See? You'll manage it just fine, I'm sure about it! But could you help me with something?"

Khamûl nodded again. "Do you know anything about Trazîl and where he is?"

"I sent him to clean up the road for the elvish guests. He probably is at the quarry and has them gathering stones, I said he should plaster the road, because I wanted to prove to Sauron, Heather and you that I can work too!" Khamûl said after wiping away his tears.

"Thank you, and don't give up on yourself, keep to it!", the Mouth said and left unexpectedly, making the Nazgûl fall flat on his face. After returning to Tharelion, who held the spiked mace he borrowed from the Witch King, he broke down in despair. Travelling for a few hours and sadly noticing no beautiful flowers for Heather, the Mouth found Trazîl himself working in the quarry, carrying a large load of smaller stones to a carriage.

"Trazîl! Trazîl, come here, I need you!", the Mouth shouted and the orc looked up at him before quickly abandoning his post and bolting for his master.

"My Lord, shall Mordor's Darkness rule eternally!", he panted.

"Same to… look, can we just stop with that stupid greeting? I start to hate it.", he complained.

Trazîl hesitated before saying, "Yes, my Lord, of course."

"Good, I need to talk with you about the hiking park I plan about doing on Mount Doom. I thought we two could sit together and draw up the plans for the thing, I can't do it alone and you are the orc with the most expertise in the whole of Mordor.", the Mouth said to an eagerly listening Trazîl.

"Certainly, my Lord, when do you want to do this?"

"I thought we could do it now, but then again, you are busy on Khamûl's orders, yes?", the Mouth asked. Trazîl swallowed heavily and leaned on one foot, causing him to whimper in pain and hop to the other, making him scream in agony and fall to the ground. The Mouth watched in amusement until he could talk normally again.

"Yes, my Lord, but I can have the slaves do the work on their own, but they would probably run off if I wasn't here to watch them."

"Ah, I see, well that is a problem of greater magnitude then. If we were to have this conversation here, maybe lay out the plans on a stone and talk while you watch them?", the Mouth asked.

"Yes, that would probably be for the best, my Lord. Do you have the necessary utensils with you?", Trazîl asked and received a nodded confirmation as reply. They walked to a vantage point and oversaw the situation, while the slaves worked below. The two sat at the stone for many hours and the sun had gone low, nearing dusk, as they finished their project.

"I think that went better than expected! It is a fair possibility for this park to rival the Spa, don't you think?", the Mouth asked.

"Yes, my Lord, we can expect massive profits once the slave transport and stairs are operational!", Trazîl replied.

Below them, placed on a large stone, lay the blueprints for the park, a massive area that went from the foot of the mountain straight to the top. A race for the most energetic children was planned, the first to the top wins a slave from the east, either to take home with or throw down into the lava. Children would be watched over by the personnel, leaving the parents to have strolls around the more visually impressive areas. The largest citizens of Gondor were also kept in mind, an extra slave transport system, with additional fees for ten pounds above a weight of 299, was to be implemented, although it would officially be advertised for those in need of assistance due to physical impairments.

The general idea of the park was to give its visitors the many spectacular views Mordor could present them. The frequent ash raining down would be a problem, as well as the infrequent eruptions, but with enough safety regulations there ought to be enough convinced tourists. Not to mention those that were of the daring sort, the adrenaline addicts.

"Now Trazîl, once you have finished your work here and the financial situation allows it, I book you to bring this project to life. I have priority, understood?", the Mouth threatened the orc.

"I will see to it as soon as I can, my Lord!", he replied.

The mouth left him and returned to his residence, having done enough work for the day. The pain in his muscles reminded him of the Spa and Heather, a visit to ensure her success would probably lighten the spirits and be for the best, and if his talents in persuasion were anything to go by, a massage should be in for him as well.

He had generally felt bad whenever she was not near him and missed her. His thoughts had more than often drifted to her face and the sound of her voice, but he never went after his desires until now.

XxX

"This Spa is better than what I ever expected, it really is outstandingly good!", one very relaxed elf said to another.

"Yes, I must agree, it really is. Have you been down to the Crystalia yet? Those crystals outside the windows, they light up during the night and its amazing!", the elf replied.

Heather had overheard the conversation while she was on her seventh walk through the Spa. Ensuring that the treatment and service was of the quality it needed to be started to take a physical strain on her, due to her generally lazy nature in regards to sport and the long hours of uninterrupted sitting while working for Sauron. But it was Friday, the weekend she would take off and give the command to her vice, a slave girl who had proven herself outstandingly well in the face of angry elvish encounters.

Looking out through the window, she saw a familiar figure approaching the Spa, a large helmet glimmering from vigorous polishing, white teeth forming a smile to the curious passersby and a long cloak billowing in the wind behind him, it was the Mouth.

'What does he want now...', she thought and left the building to greet him.

"Ah, my dear Mouth, what brings you here?", she asked as he climbed down from his horse and gave a jolly wave to a few elves watching in the distance.

"Heather! I am just coming by with assuredly no ill intentions, other than asking about your wellbeing and the how the Spa manages!", he responded and tried to give her a hug, but she politely declined with her elbows.

"I am about as good as can be in my position, thank you, and the Spa is running just fine. The elves love it and have given me more compliments than I have ever heard in the years I have worked alongside Sauron, his moronic enforcers and you, Mouth.", Heather replied.

"How good to hear, lovely to see that the tide has turned to our advantage. I must say, you do look quite good! The red robes fit you nicely!", he complimented her. Heather was taken aback by this statement and regarded him with a proving look, what was he trying to do?

"Has Sauron tried some new form of torture on you? Or some new dark magic because he couldn't find an orc?", she asked.

"...not that I am aware of. And no, I have not been subjected to any magical experimentation and am free of any pesky maladies. Why are you asking?"

"You are acting far too nice to me, that's why.", she replied with narrowed eyes.

"Uh, okay, I think that I will go back to my home now...", he said with a nervous laugh and climbed back onto his steed. Quickly he rode off without saying another word to Heather and cursed himself silently for messing up his chance. The former secretary watched him ride off and asked herself if this was a bad dream.

XxX

Tharelion was more or less pleased with the performance of Cirque du Sauron. Zerkal managed to do the octaflip from the tower into a somewhat shallow pool, which he complained about regularly but Tharelion couldn't be bothered to listen, and Ren was able to perform the two-finger stand on the moving Mûmakil's trunk for about six seconds, which had to be enough for the crowd.

Khamûl and Dumân were reasonably able to perform the "Gullible Guillotine", which involved a real guillotine and the very fast reflexes of the Nazgûls. And should there be any unfortunate injuries or even casualties, if would only serve to please the crowd.

For the Witch King it had taken a fair bit of time and effort to convince him of the boxes' safety, but it was successful and he now had the top act.

Last but not least came the Fellbeasts and Mûmakils. Should the little bell ring, they would allow themselves to be petted, as they knew that otherwise a painful night would await them.

The Nazgûl, Mûmakils and fellbeasts made their way towards the tower of Sauron, to say their final goodbyes before their departure.

"Are you finished with the training?", Sauron asked.

"Yes, my Lord. We only came here to ask for your blessings and to say our goodbyes.", Tharelion responded.

"Sod off! And you better go through Minas Morgul, can't have the elves scared and running off with all that money!", Sauron barked and had them kicked out. A disgruntled Tharelion led his secretly relieved troupe out of Barad-dûr and onto the new road, which sadly wasn't plastered until the City. After a long journey, the high and impressive walls of Minas Tirith graced their eyes, of which they did not see much since they were nearly blind.

"Guard!", Tharelion shouted at the gate.

"What?", came the slowly spoken answer, which sounded rather sleepy.

"Would the Kingdom of Gondor be interested in witnessing the greatest act in Middle Earth?", the Nazgûl spoke loudly, to which his companions answered with groans of disagreement.

"Gandalf, is that you? Are you still in that fireworks business, thought you'd be dead by now?"

"What? NO!", a furious Tharelion screamed, his anger at being compared and even thought of the grey wizard rivaling Sauron's solarium incident. The guard looked over the gate and nearly had a heart attack when one of the Mûmakils tried to blow raspberries at him.

"No thank you! No one is interested!", came as a response, but not only from Gondor's guard, but also from Rohan, Erebor and many other places all over Middle Earth.

"Where else can we go?", Tharelion asked himself or the other Nazgûl as he paced through their camp in the middle of the night, the continued failure had decreased his mental stability significantly.

"How about here?", Khamûl said and pointed at a little place on Middle Earths Map, called the Shire.

"...Shire? Never heard of that. Have you, Khamûl?"

"No, but since we are so desperate in the first place, why not?", he responded. Tharelion sighed loudly.

"Alright, since we absolutely have to."

Over the next few weeks, the circus marched to the Shire and were directed to a place called Hobbiton, by a gentleman who seemed scared of them, for some inexplicable reason.

XxX

"WHEEE!", the Hobbit child squealed.

The fellbeast roared in as silently as it could, trying it's best to suppress the rage building up.

The child fell down on it's back again, and with great effort not to bite the giggling head off, Tinkerbell threw the rascal back into the air.

"WHEEEE!"

The Witch King's void twitched.

XxX

Heather placed her weekly report on Sauron's desk and the eye skimmed over it.

"Those numbers are fantastic! I knew you were capable of doing this, Heather!", he exclaimed happily.

Mordors finances had rocketed through the roof, they could pay every outstanding wage and even the slaves were happy again, after the union leaders had been made examples of, horrible examples.

The Nazgûl had returned, their circus being an abysmal failure that proved their incapability once more, and had been demoted. Their new job was to ask stupid questions for which they would be puished horribly, something they were very well capable of, according to Sauron, Heather and the Mouth.

Mordor was saved, but now its new found wealth would be used to conquer Middle Earth.


	5. Chapter 5The last bits

**A/N: This is a compilation of stuff I wrote long ago and originally intended to work into a complete story. The basic gist of it is, that Sauron&Mordor would have conquered the world through economic means and furthermore be corrupted by greed, which in turn would have led to their downfall, but not after doing significant damage to Middle Earth.  
****I chose not to continue with it for multiple reasons, primarily that I did not feel well enough to think of and write any more and because I felt like the story did not receive the necessary attention. It was fun while it lasted and I did enjoy writing it in the early stages, but at this point I cannot continue. My apologies to those who would have liked to see it complete, maybe I will rewrite it sometimes.**

**I do not claim ownership of World or characters and no money was made from this story. **

XxX

(This was the original scene in part 3, which got replaced by Khamûl cutting off Trazîls toes.)

The Nazgûls descended upon Trazîls shack. A democratic decision had been made and they decided that he would have to bear the brunt of their frustrations, frustrations that could only be cured by a few very nasty things they thought of quickly and wanted to subject little Trazîl to. Should he ask why they were doing this, they would of course blame Sauron, after all was it true and what was he going to do about it anyway, tell Sauron?

The democratic decision and involved bickering also gave them the idea of a little prank for the orc. They would accuse him of having such vile political ideas and make him an example of rebellious activities.

The orc inside the building was deep into the afternoons siesta after all the hard work, and had a very slow reaction when the windows and doors got kicked in and bursted through. The Nazgûls rushed, jumped, and in Dumân's case, broke through the roof, which startled the orc back into reality.

"Grab him, pull him out of the Hammock!", the Witch King ordered. It was not necessary to pull him out, as he had unwillingly left the swinging bed and fallen to the floor. "Bring him out, we are going to do this outside!"

Trazîl screamed in terror, punching and hammering away at his attackers, but it was no use, their grips were far too strong. Being dragged over the remains of the door he built himself, he was placed in front of his house, the destruction of his headquarters by the Nazgûls in full view and fearing for his life.

"You have been chosen as our entertainment for the day, a day on which we have once more been greatly wronged by the Lord Sauron. And since we have quite the unpleasant mood, you will have to bring our spirits back into the uplifted position we desire.", The Witch King spoke passionately, slowly pacing in front of the sobbing orc.

"What are you going to do to me? Please, I did not do anything!", the orc cried pleadingly.

"Yes, about that, we have not decided, but you are going to be the victim of a rumored political direction Mordor's residents are supposedly longing for. As you might know, democratic beliefs have started to build a haven for unsure minds in our beautiful land, and we are democratically deciding what we are going to do with you. Oh, and before I forget it, your little greeting-Shall Mordor's Darkness rule eternally!", the Nazgûls chieftain continued.

"What are you talking about?! HELP!", the orc screamed. The Nazgûls around him chuckled, immensely amused by the situation. Even the leader had to compose himself to stop from laughing out loud.

"My fellow ringwraiths, what is it that we shall do with our unruly subject? Shall we let him go unpunished?", the Witch King asked the circle around their victim.

The Nazgûls cried their displeasure with the way of action proposed. The orc started to sob even more.

"Please, I will do anything you want, just don't hurt me! Please!", he pleaded for mercy.

"Are you hearing his proposition, gentlemen? He will do anything we want, as long as we don't hurt him. Pathetic, is it not?"

The Nazgûls voiced their agreement.

"PLEASE! PLEASE, I BEG YOU!", Trazîl screamed as loud as he could.

The Witch King looked down on him, struggled to hide his laughter and motioned for the other Nazgûls to form a circle around him. They stuck their heads together and started to plan the next step.

"This is going great, isn't it? I think he crapped his pants!", the Witch King giggled.

"Yeah, that is going far better than expected, what are you going to do next?", Khamûl asked.

"I thought about burying him alive, the way he wails should wake up the Balrogs in all of Middle Earth!", the Witch Kind answered.

"Um, I don't want to annoy anyone, but might I suggest that we actually -"

A "WAAAAAAH!" from Trazîl interrupted Dumân.

"...that we actually do what Sauron has sent us here for, the whole building fences for the elves thing."

"Do you seriously not want to do this? Are you really suggesting that we go back to our job, not having even the tiniest bit fun even if we clearly need it? You are truly convinced by that stupid opinion of yours?", Khamûl condescendingly told him.

"No, I don't think that we shouldn't have fun, but I believe that our mission is simply of greater importance! After all, Mordor, our Lord and ourselves are at stake here and I don't want to be subjected to whatever torture he has a preference for this week!", Dumân retorted.

"Well then, let's actually make a little democratic decision about what will happen next. Considering that Democracy is hailed as the best form of coexistence there is, we shall put this to the test.", the Witch King suggested. But since he was the leader and everyone had to listen to his commands, he knew what would happen next.

"Who is in favor of further torture of the prisoner?"

Eight of the Nine's eighteen hands rose instantly. Only Dumân's remained at his side and he scowled at the rest. Stupid democracy. The Nazgûls returned to their putrid, pathetic and pitiful prisoner.

"Now, now, don't be so scared. We have decided that we will not cut one of your limbs off and feed it to you -", the orc cried out in terror, "although you are so terribly skinny that it might seem like the right decision, but no. We are also not going to set you or your little shack on fire, since that would bring more problems in the long run.", Khamûl finished, the whimpering orc convulsing from fear beneath him. "No, our leader has come up with a far more humane solution for the little problem."

"Indeed I have! Haven't you always wanted to feel 'invisible', unnoticed by the other orcs around you? Or quite possibly also us, judging by the little performance you put up here? Did there ever occur the desire to be the ghost, a passive spectator in the lives of other people? Now we are going to help you become that, since we have found out who can do that! It is...", the orc whimpered, not knowing how to deal with this psychopathic game, "THE DEAD! You are correct, we will bury you alive!"

Trazîl passed out, unable to deal with it any further.

"That should make the job easier, although not nearly as entertaining. Eh, can't have everything, can you?", The Witch King pondered. Ordering the slaves to start digging their masters grave, they settled next to the shack and watched them work.

While the rest of the wraiths enjoyed themselves and reveled in their rare moment of opportunity, Dumân looked troubled. Khamûl noticed and went over to him, trying to talk him out of his guilty feeling.

"Hey there, don't be such a downer, we are still perfectly in the schedule. There is no need for you to worry about anything, just enjoy yourself for once. The whole business with the Spa clearly nagged at your energy too, recharge a bit!", Khamûl said with as much charm as he could muster. Dumân's void looked up at him.

"I know, it's just… if we could have done this sooner, we could see if it works and if there needs to be any correction done. Now we don't have the time and need to consider more possibilities that can go wrong.", Dumân said and kicked a few stones at the slaves.

"Don't worry, it will be fine. Just don't think that something will happen, because if you do, something will. And what are we again? Nazgûls! And there is no job too big for a Nazgûl, too complicated or too impossible!", Khamûl told him with an impressively genuine tone. Dumân replied with a thoughtful "Hmmm...".

The slaves worked quickly, the grave and makeshift coffin being completed in half an hour. Just as the Nine were lowering his possible death bed down into the grave, a dumb knocking came out of the coffin. The slow sound quickly changed it's tune and came far more rapidly, accompanied by panicked screaming.

"Looks like someone is having second thoughts about this!", the Witch King laughed and started to shovel earth on top of it.

"Do you actually want to leave him in there?", Zerkal asked. "How long do you think he will have air?"

"No, we aren't going to leave him there for ever. Only for ten minutes, then he should be reunited with the living.", the Witch King answered while shoveling more earth down, making the banging ever more desperate.

The roaring laughter of the Nazgûls soon let the pleading cries of the orc stop, presumably because he was too busy praying to his gods and asking why his end had to come this way. Above his resting place, the Nazgûls held a bad pun competition, trying to determine the who gets to hold the eulogy.

"Dear congregation! Today, on this fateful morning, a tragedy has befallen us! A terrible occurrence nobody could have seen coming or, in the case of being able, could have stopped from happening! Our dear and beloved Trazîl has found his untimely end in the earth beneath our feet, at fault for this only his unfortunate desire to believe in something wrong! He shall be remembered by no one in particular, since he will be erased from the history books!", Tharelion spoke to the attendees, faux crying making his performance believable.

The Nazgûls wept uncontrollably and blew their noses in handkerchiefs, before the Witch King and Khamûl dug the orc up again.

Trazîl's coffin was heaved out of the hole and the nails pulled back out, the Nazgûls peaking into it. Trazîl lay there, his eyes wide open and unresponsive to any of his abusers taunts.

"Trazîîîîl", Khamûl drawled excitedly.

"Trazîîîl get up!", the Witch King chimed in.

His eyes slowly started to blink and his breath became quicker. "Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?", he slowly asked.

"I am afraid that this is not the case, yet you should be pleased to know that we can indeed fulfill your wish to be part of the afterlife. After you have helped us with our job, naturally!", Khamûl said and patted him on the shoulder.

The orc was grabbed by the Nazgûls and brought to sit in a chair. Yet he still was unsure about where and who he was, looking around him with an unrecognizing gaze and unsure if this was real.

XxX

"A bit more to the left!", the Mouth screamed to the slaves and orc replacements.

"If you have knees, you use them, you Morons!", he shouted, rage at the failure of the slaves and orc substitutes.

The L of the gigantic letters was not properly in place and the "MORGULWOOD" sign looked like shoddy craftsmanship, something unheard of in New Mordor.

XxX

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!", the frontman screamed with a terrifying voice, captivating the Dwarves watching the Palantiri. The drums and guitars played the climactic melody so loud and perfect, that the windows nearly broke and threatened to wake up the neighbours toddler.

"OUT NOW! THE NEW ALBUM FROM THE ACCLAIMED BAND NAZTOOL. AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL RETAILER OR FOR YOUR iPALANTI, PER DOWNLOAD FROM OUR CLOUDSTORE. GET IT NOW AND HEAR THEIR BEST MUSIC YET!", the rest of the commercial transfixed and ordered the listeners.

The dwarves got up and scrambled for the door, only two stayed back and frantically searched for their mobile devices. They were undeniably a handy blessing, only their spherical form made for a few unwanted hide and seek games.

"The review say that this is their best album yet, I can't wait to listen to it!", one of the children excitedly said.

"Yeah, but I hope its better than what they released last year, that was my least favourite. I hope that they got back on track.", the other one said and a very heated discussion about the quality of musical pieces by the band followed.

XxX

"Sauron, put milk on my shopping list!", Frodo told the Tower.

"Certainly. Milk has been added to your shopping list. Would you like for me to add anything else?"

"No thank you, that's fine.", the Hobbit concluded and went to the garden.

"Good Morning, my dear Sam. How are you?", he asked his gardener who had just arrived at the gate.

"Good Morning Master Frodo, thank you, I am very much alright. Only thing that worries me are the clouds back there, it will probably rain later in the day. How about yourself?", Sam answered and started to work.

"Hm, you might be right, better do our chores a bit quicker today. I am also quite alright, my new Sauron is really helping me during the day, it was a good investment.", Frodo told Sam.

"Oh, have you gotten one of those little Sauron towers too? My neighbour just got one a few days ago, she is also praising you. I had been thinking about getting one myself, but I don't know. These things can hear everything you say, you know, and I would not want Sauron to know my secrets and daily routine.", Sam said with a frown.

"Oh Sam, always a pessimist about the new things, aren't you. Well, I like to try out new things, and if there is something that can help me during the day, is available twentyfour hours and doesnt complain, I am all in for it. And it doesn't listen to everything you do, Sam, you are far too paranoid. I would recommend you that you get one yourself, you will fall in Love with it in no time.", Frodo said and got to work.

Inside the little Tower gave a small shudder, the Eye attentively listening.

XxX

"Alright, has everyone gotten their hooks?", Trazîl shouted to his workers. They all answered approvingly and he continued. The eye high above them looking excitedly at the ant like workers.

"Then we pull out in Three!", he shouted. The workers readied themselves.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

The hooks were all pulled from their places and the gigantic tarp fell down from Sauron's tower. Quickly it descended, barely giving the slaves enough time to run away from their doom. The dust settled, the tarp laid still and the Dark Lord had been renovated. Khamûl, Trazîl and the rest of the spectators gasped in unison.

"How does it look? Quick, bring the mirror!", Sauron commanded them.

The slaves scuttled and carefully carried the assembled mirror into the position, in which the eye could have the best view of itself. The makeshift reflector had been taped together from all the little handheld mirrors the elvish ladies kept in their make-up kits. It was a frequent complaint of the visitors, that they always found themselves one mirror lighter when they left, much to their annoyance and the terror of the employees ears.

"Oh, that is absolutely beautiful, far better than the old one. Turn it a bit to the left!", the slaves heaved and angled it sideways, "Oh, that is just marvelous, better than I imagined!", Sauron squealed in joy.

A gigantic suit had superseded the old design of Barad-dûr, only the Dark Lord's giant, menacingly glowing eye had remained. The evolution of Sauron and Mordor had reached it's next step.

While Sauron giggled and commanded the slaves to bring his back into view, Khamûl thought about what this would mean for him and his fellow ringwraiths.

The Mouth and Heather had gradually undergone design and appearance changes, and he feared that this might be the future of the Nazgûls too. The Mouth had started to wear white robes at first, which became ever tighter and better tailored to his built. Then came the most horrific change, where Sauron manufactured a helmet for him, which had diverse advertising scripted onto it, glowing day and night. He called them Neon lights, for whatever reason. Heather, on the other hand, started to style herself beyond elvish perfection and solely use products of her line. Disregarding anything always styled beyond elvish perfection, showing off her own products to the world. But what would the Witch King, he and the rest have to look like in the future. The most probable direction would be something similar to Sauron, possibly suits too. Damn him, damn the rings, damn them all.

XxX

"Now, how do the numbers look? Have we broken our last record yet again?", Sauron asked his accountant, Khamûl.

"Yes, My Lord. There has been an increase in the Sauron Device, or Little Sauron's as the customers like to call it, of more than 240% over the last quarter. They have proven to be a bestseller and we can barely keep up with the demand.", Khamûl sighed and turned a few pages of the new folder, the older one was all full with numbers that were higher than the ones of the folder before that.

"Ha, how fortunate. Those idiots really believe that I don't see everything they do and listen to everything said. How the tides have turned, I myself cannot really believe it. Truly amazing.", Sauron exclaimed and overlooked the landscape of New Mordor.

"Yes, one thing that I wanted to talk about is the "Wanted" posters for the grey wizard. Would it suit you if we were to sent them on the broadcast every 2 hours, he seems to have intensified his guerilla operations against our delivery system. There were far more reports of attacks than usual and some of our salesman reported an increase of unreasonable, angry customers demanding our products. This might turn into a far larger problem, if we don't act on it fairly soon!", Khamûl explained. Sauron gave a thoughtful hum.

"Yes, you can do that. Have my servants not been able to get a few more clues about his whereabouts?"

"No, My Lord. The SS has been unable to gain more intel on Old Greybeards position.", Khamûl admitted, not really liking the new abbreviation of the Nazgûls. "Sauron's Servants" did not really have the same ring to it, even if they did have it, and saying SS made him feel like having a speech impediment and being somewhat retarded. But then again, the name Nazgûls had many negative connotations and so they were forced to rebrand themselves, otherwise the entertainment products wouldn't have sold.

"Yes, I have been thinking about your new name, the whole 'Sauron's Servants' thing, and came to the conclusion that it is pretty stupid. Saying SS the whole time makes me feel retarded.", Sauron explained.

'No surprise there', Khamûl thought.

"Which is why I have decided to rename you and the rest. Going forth, you shall all carry the name 'Sauron's little Helpers', do you understand? There wont be any abbreviation, since I want to establish a better brand name and recognition. I also thought about giving you new cloaks with a friendlier colour, something bright, possibly Lime green or maybe light blue.", Sauron said with an undecided tone.

Khamûl sighed. He was wary of the day to day work and Sauron's insanity, even if the insanity had become the new norm.

XxX

"My Lord, my Lord, we caught the grey wizard! We got him, he is hiding out at the home of another wizard, Radagast the Brown if our spies have done their work correctly!", Khamûl burst through the door and spluttered the information to Sauron.

"HA! That old wizard is no match for my genius, I knew it and always have done so! Okay, we need a plan to capture him, have you thought of anything?", Sauron said.

"We thought of going there in the middle of the night, all of the Nazgûls, bursting the door down and getting hold of him with the element of surprise!", Khamûl said excitedly, he greatly missed all the fun he had back in the day. Back then, murder and kidnappings had been the daily routine, and not stupid staff and board of directors meetings or dealing with those disgusting public relations and avoiding press disasters.

"No, that would make us look bad. Do something else, be a bit more diplomatic cunning should do the job, pressure and manipulate him into obeying. Say that you have gotten hold of something he will greatly miss, something of great value.", Sauron ordered.

"But my Lord, could we not possibly -"

"Are you too thick to understand my orders? You will do no such thing as breaking in and possibly committing a homicide!". Sauron angrily said. "Now go, bring him here, we are going to lock him up in the deepest dungeon."

Khamûl accepted his defeat, sighed, wished his Master farewell and gathered the Nazgûls and they started their journey towards the western border of Mirkwood.

"How long until we reach the wizard?", the Witch King asked excitedly. They were currently travelling over He had not been informed of the proceedings and was under the impression that they could set the home on fire and torment their captives.

"A few more hours to go!", Khamûl answered. He had been mulling over how he could tell his companions the truth, but could not convince himself, that he wanted this to happen.

Disobeying Sauron would have dire consequences, but what could be worse than the never ending meetings and conferences he had to endure. A little bit of fun didn't hurt anyone, well maybe a few somebodies, but that was just natural. In truth, Khamûl simply had to do it, no matter what Sauron ordered. He had shoved him around far too long and he would prove that his methods would work as well, maybe even better.

"Oh, I can't wait to meet the damn wizard! I will cut his beard off the moment I get my hands on it!", Dumân growled. His fellbeasts gave an approving screech and he patted it lovingly.

The flight over the trees continued, down below the elves of Mirkwood wondered what they were seeking and the Nazgûls spitting down on them in turn.

Coming over a gigantic house with many animals grazing peacefully in front of it. They deemed it peaceful enough to seek help and so they decided to land and ask for directions. They were not entirely certain if they had taken the correct route, mostly because the Witch King had lost their only map over Dagorlad.

Knocking on the gigantic door, Khamûl made their presence known, "We seek your help, resident of this fine house!"

A rumble came from inside the house and heavy steps could be heard coming to the door. With each step, the ground shook and the ringwraiths instinctively moved backwards, afraid of what would come out the door. Only Khamûl and the Witch King grabbed their hilts and readied their swords, taking a stance to defend themselves.

"Who seeks my help?", a deep, rumbling voice coming from behind the door asked.

"A group of travelers with peaceful intent, solely interested in your knowledge of this land and directions you might be able to provide.", Khamûl answered, no trace of fear in his voice.

"HA! And I ought to believe you, Nazgûl? Peaceful intent, that a servant of the foulest Lord of them all does even know such words, I cannot even believe that!", the voice answered, growling angrier with every word. An eye peering through a small peephole in the door had seen them, unnoticed by the group, as it was placed far higher than they were tall.

"Yes, you should believe that, since it is nothing but the truth. Please let us solve this problem peacefully, good Sir, as I believe no one here would like to die.", Khamûl tried to negotiate, throwing a few nasty looks at the Witch King and his absent map.

"All of you should head back to your mounts and leave, all but you, speaker of the Nazgûl. If you are truly serious about your inquiry, you will do this the way I want.", the voice spoke.

XxX

"Are you ready to have your mind blown? Next week, the new Season of '_**SURVIVE THE DEAD MARSHES'**_ will be released, pinning the cunning adventurers against the fearsome Candles of the Dead! Who will die? Who will live? And who will win? Be sure to tune in next week for the premiere of the next season of _**'SURVIVE THE DEAD MARSHES'**_!", blared out of the giant Palantir, placed on top of a metal framework in the middle of the town square.

"I can't stand that thing any longer. How do they convince themselves that they can actually sell this crap?", an old hobbit complained to his wife. They were sitting at the local inn and tried to enjoy their meal, yet found it impossible with the giant commercial orb blasting its content at the hobbits below.

"Oh, I think if you're here long enough you stop noticing it. At least I think so, judging by how the merchants don't care about it," his wife answered, while overlooking the square.

"You might be right in that regard, but what about the show they advertise. Nobody could possibly watch something so idiotic.", the husband complained further.

"Only you think so. From the many chats I have with the ladies during tea time, I know for certain that they and their husbands like to watch it. And many other things too, something that I too did not expect. You're simply getting old, my dear, the times are changing, like they always do.", the wife laughed and started feasting on the delicious dessert. Her husband answered with a thoughtful frown and also dug in.

XxX

"I will only say this one more time, so you better listen or consequences will follow. I need ideas, in large quantity and high quality!", the Mouth barked at the Nazgûls, who were seated at the conference table.

"Uh, maybe a, uh, documentary about the fellbeasts?", Dumân suggested timidly.

"NO! Nobody enjoys those ugly things. You, Ren?", the Mouth snapped. Dumân and many other Ringwraiths wanted to voice their protests about the Mouths treatment of their pets, but did not really dare.

"How about a movie where we torture prisoners? Would love to see -"

"Your moronic mind be damned, NO! We have to reach all demographics, and we cant show something like this to children!", the Mouth interrupted furiously.

"A show about a slave falling in love with an orc, or the other way around?", Tharelion suggested as nonchalantly as possible.

"What? Hmmm… Yes, that could actually work. Spin the whole thing around the 'Ugly Duckling' mentality and 'Everyone deserves be happy' idea. Just have to find a good looking orc and a somewhat plain slave and Action! That's it, yes, we will do that! Good job, Tharelion.", the Mouth said, convinced and pleased by the idea. Tharelion let out a heavy sigh, he was off the hook.

"But we need more, who has another idea?"

"A horror movie starring Shelob, how about that?", the Witch King yawned, he was far too tired to actually care and think about much.

"Did you not hear what I said before? We need to reach all the demo… wait, that is ingenious, the children will sneak away and watch it on their own. Just need as good marketing campaign, getting each of the little rascals attention. Yeah, lets do that!", the Mouth had once more put his skills at entertainment and adaption to work.

The brainstorming continued for the entire afternoon. The Mouth would not budge, no matter how many nervous breakdowns the Nazgûls suffered and how much they begged for a break. He was in charge of the entertainment division, and he would do better than Heather, no matter how much tonnes of the damned "_Eau de Mordeaux"_ she was able to sell last quarter.

XxX

"Now Ladies, how are the numbers looking?", Heather asked her board of directors.

The meteoric rise of her beauty products forced her to establish multiple subsidiaries of the "Soul and Soma" company, each concerning itself with the production and distribution of a variety of products. The Clothing and Skincare divisions had also been divided into subsidiaries, since there proved to be a massive market for these products, a market which had been untouched by the wonders of industrial production and spilled profits that rivaled all the dwarvish gold and diamond mines combined.

"We have had a rise in sales of about 27 percent over the last quarter! That is amazing news of course, yet I am somewhat worried if the industrial output can keep up...", the head of the clothing lines told her.

Khamûl harrumphed.

"Oh how good, that is even higher than last year. Could you reiterate the simulations to me, I have a rather faulty memory due to all the stress lately, a mistake on my part.", Heather laughed.

"Oh certainly, the last predictions said we would have a rise of about 24 percent, so it is even better than our analysts believed! But then again, the question is if our factories can keep the production going according to demand.", she answered.

Khamûl harrumphed louder.

XxX

"And we had to threaten the southerners a bit, they were not producing as much as we ordered. Granted, we had to tell them to manufacture twenty percent more than we originally plannned, and that all on very short notice, but it still should not be.", Heather ranted in front of Sauron. With furious stomping she marched between the tower and the Mouth, who had to watch out for her "misplaced" steps.

"Well, our shows have done quite well, but the ratings are lower than the Mines of Moria. I already sent out Zerkal and Tharelion to give the reviewers a little taste of their Morgul blades.", the Mouth said.

Sauron had a hard time dealing with this and little energy left. Gathering the last bits of energy he could find, he responded.

"I, originally and long ago, had much faith in the two of you. Both have proven themselves worthy of some recognition, but also of a large amount of criticism and the right to be insulted. Now, I think you should be able to solve these situations without my involvement, therefore I bid you Goodbye, or rather a day filled with enduring doubtfulness. Now leave."

Heather huffed angrily while glaring up at the eye, while the Mouth cast his glance to the floor, shook his head and left. Heather followed swiftly and closed the door with a bang.

Letting out a long sigh, the Dark Lord noticed his vision failing, turning darker and darker, unfocused and the colours fading rapidly while he himself lost control over consciousness.

The tower and surrounding ground rumbled violently, sending the orcs off screaming in panic and believing an earthquake to take place beneath them. Running around in all directions, arms flailing wildly and searching for cover, a few heads turned and looked towards the heavens, and one God specifically, Sauron.

The eye's pupil looked down, directly at them, and slowly moved up, and up, and up until it stood perfectly horizontal. Yet it did not stop and moved on, its gaze meeting the clouds until it stood in the vertical, until it came back down on the other side. Soon, it had spun 360 degree and started to do it again, only this time far quicker.

Saurons eye spun around his own axis, repeatedly.

Mesmerized by the sight, the orcs stopped cowering in fear and gaped upwards. Circling around Mount Doom, the Nazgûls did the same until suddenly, Sauron's eye flickered in quick succession, and finally turned off.

"Seems like he had a Burnout...", Khamûl muttered.


End file.
